


Dreamscape

by Nikki66



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nightmares, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is suffering from debilitating nightmares. Anders offers to help him discover why. Both get more than they bargained for.</p><p>(Slow burn, eventual Fenders).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before I Wake

**Author's Note:**

> This was my cool-down after finishing a very intense, angst-filled, emotional fiction (We Became Each Other). 
> 
> There is some mild angst, here. There's discussion of past abuse. 
> 
> I'm not an expert on dream analysis. 
> 
> I play with Fenris' forgotten memories.
> 
> I fudge the game storyline a little, but it shouldn't hurt.

Insomnia was a dreadful companion.

Of all the little quirks and perks of being a Grey Warden, insomnia was the worst. He didn’t know if all the Wardens suffered from it. But, he did. Ever since his Joining, sleep avoided him like a Templar avoided smart.

The rest of the quirks were bothersome, at best. The reduced shelf-life was bad, but he really didn’t expect to live even another ten years... hell, five might be pushing it, what with Justice. The whispers/voices/buzzing... annoying, sure. But, if he could sleep, he’d be free of them during the quiet hours, at least. Nightmares... he’d be thrilled to be awakened from sleep. Because, that would mean he’d actually had any sleep. 

To sleep... ahhhh... he couldn’t imagine greater bliss. As it was, he got about four hours, tops, each night. Frequently less, depending on how agitated Justice was. 

Tonight, Justice was quiet. It was courtesy of his tent-mate, he knew. Normally, they all had separate tents on an overnight job. Not that Hawke and Isabella kept to theirs. One would invariably go trip-trip-tripping into the other’s come nightfall. 

But, the sudden torrential downpour had sent a flash flood through their camp while they were working. They returned to a small river flowing through their campsite, and half their gear gone. So, here they were. Two tents among four people, both of which were crammed under the lea of a small escarpment for protection from the worst of the storm.

And, so, Justice was blissed into a coma by the lyrium carved into the body of his reluctant tent-mate. 

Reluctant was putting it mildly, really. But, considering he hadn’t taken a fist through the chest, yet, he was willing to minimize Fenris’ reaction in the retelling. Figured he owed the broody bastard that much.

Now, into the wee hours, rain pelting down beyond the narrow escarpment’s protection, Anders lay bored. His was one of the tents to be washed away. He’d had a book sitting on his bedroll, which was likewise on leave of absence. There was no guard posted on a night like this, and there was no room for an outside fire between the two tents. Nothing to do, nowhere to go... just lay here and listen for the quiet breathing of the elf beside him.

Who really was a quiet sleeper. He barely moved, didn’t mumble or snore, no coughing or nose-whistling. If not for the loud storm, Anders guessed he could hear the elf’s heartbeat, so quiet was he in repose. Although, he couldn’t even hear Hawke and Isabela’s gymnastics over the storm, which said something for the ferocity of the weather.

Except... now, he could hear the elf’s breathing. His respirations were picking up speed and depth. Dreaming, probably, lucky bastard. The tent was pitch black, so he couldn’t see if those great, green eyes of his were twitching under his lids. Hopefully, it was a good dream.

Apparently, not.

Fenris suddenly shot into sitting bolt upright, breathing harsh and fast. 

“You alright?” Anders asked quietly. Judging by the fast shift of the bedclothes, he’d startled him.

The elf’s hoarse, breathless voice sounded in the dark. “A light... please, a light...”

Anders lit a little blue flame in his palm. Fenris’ face came into view in the dim glow. He was covered in sweat, gasping for air, hair sticking to his face. One hand was actually clutching his chest. 

“Brighter... brighter,” the elf said. Curling his fingers into the flame, Anders flicked them out, sending the light dispersing into tiny sparks of white, much like a miniature starry sky inside the tent. The space was filled with light.

Fenris glanced at him, now. “Oh... it’s you.” Oddly, he said it calmly, without rancor or a sneer.

“Bad dream?”

The snowy head nodded, still gasping for air. Fenris’ lanky frame was starting to tremble, his face drawing into a grimace... then a frown... then anguish. His teeth chattered.

“Hey, Elf... you’re safe. We’re in a tent on Sundermount, in a storm.”

The elf curled over his knees, still shuddering. His next words were so soft that Anders almost missed them. “Maker...make it stop....”

The mage had never heard such a plaintive sound from the elf. He had no idea what sort of comfort to offer... If comfort would be accepted. “Can I help?”

Fenris didn’t reply, verbally. His body simply canted to the side, and fell against Anders’ supine form. Anders felt the violent tremors, the harsh breathing, as he lay half on the mage. He lifted a hand to touch the elf, and hesitated. Generally, Fenris was not one for touch; particularly, he was not one for Anders’ touch.

Feeling the elf’s distress, Anders risked contact. Fenris jolted, then relaxed slightly. He was hot, sweating through his tunic, trembling enough to vibrate through the mage’s midsection. His head had landed on Anders’ solar plexus, more or less. Rubbing his back gently, Anders waited it out. 

He was, frankly, bewildered. That Fenris was unsettled by a nightmare was hard enough to process. That he was unsettled enough to accept comfort from Anders... It was not less than a miracle. But, here he was... lying across the mage’s belly, trembling like a newborn kitten.

In time, the quaking slowed and ceased, his skin dried, and his breathing eased. He continued to lie on the mage’s body, still curled up with his arms wrapped about himself.

“Can I ask...?” Anders began.

“Danarius.” Fenris’ throat sounded parched.

“Oh.” Anders reached for his water skin, and uncapped it. He offered it to Fenris, who lifted his head enough to drink, then lay back down in his impromptu apostate pillow.

“It’s always Danarius.”

“This happens a lot?”

“Most nights. Not always this bad, but....”

Anders continued rubbing his back. He hadn’t asked him to stop, nor pulled away. 

“I apologize for waking you,” the elf said.

“You didn’t. I don’t sleep well.” Now the prickly elf had apologized to him? This must have been one hell-spawn of a nightmare. Miracle number two, for the night.

“I’d gladly forgo sleep to lose these dreams.”

“Does he find you, in them?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure. I’m just... there.”

“Ah. I’m sorry. It seemed pretty intense.”

“Yes.” Fenris sat up, wiping his face, brushing his hair off of his face. He lay back on his side of the bedroll, and looked up at the tent ceiling. “Those are nice,” he said of the lights.

“Thank you. They’re my fairy lights.”

The elf's eyes still looked haunted.

“I know I’m not your first choice, but... do you want to talk about it?”

Fenris turned his head, great green eyes regarding him. “No one is my first choice. You are remarkably decent about this, Mage.”

Anders sighed. Fenris was being remarkably decent, as far as he was concerned. “You have a past. A scary past, far as I can tell. I’m not surprised it haunts your sleep. I don’t know what you imagine I might do that’s not decent. Gossip, I suppose? Not my style. What happens in this tent, stays in this tent.”

Fenris gave a brief snort. “Sounds like a brothel’s motto.”

“No, that’s one tent over.”

The elf grunted. “Thank the Maker for rainstorms.” His face fell into troubled lines. “I’m tired. So damned tired.”

“Try to sleep, again. I’ll be awake for a while, the lights’ll stay as long as I’m awake.”

Fenris nodded, and let his eyes close. “Thank you,” he murmured. And, miracle number three... The elf thanked him.

Anders at least had strange, new thoughts to occupy his sleeplessness. Odd, he’d just been thinking of how even a nightmare would be a good thing, as opposed to insomnia. Just moments later, Fenris expressed a desire to forgo sleep to avoid his dreams. Odd, but maybe not surprising. He and the elf were eternally on opposite sides of any coin.

Fenris did have another nightmare, that night. Anders didn’t touch him while he was still unconscious. He had no idea what a touch while asleep might bring out in the elf. As soon as the horror-filled green eyes flew open, he spoke to him. Reminding him he wasn’t alone. This one wasn’t as upsetting as the last, it seemed. The elf was able to slow his breathing, watching the lazy drifting of the lights in the tent. In time, he drifted back to sleep.

Anders, too, found his way to the fade. For a couple of blessed hours before dawn, he slept. When he awoke, Fenris was gone, the storm had passed, and it was time to move on.

It was several weeks before he saw the elf, again. He appeared in the clinic’s doorway, early one evening, ashen and weak. He was surprised as much by the fact that Fenris had sought him out at his clinic, as by the elf’s condition. He looked like the undead. His normally bright eyes were sunken into deep shadows. His dusky skin was pale and drawn. He moved like a sleep-walker... which, in a sense, he was.

“Maker... are you sleeping, at all?”

Fenris made his way to a cot, and wearily slid himself into sitting on it. The clinic was empty. Anders went ahead and snuffed the lantern, locking the door. He could, at least, provide the elf with privacy.

“I feel like I’m dying,” came the faded voice. “Is something wrong with me?” The last was almost hopeful. Anders had seen it before. A patient has suffered with some unknown malady for so long, just the idea of knowing what causes it can bring some relief.

“I can check, if you’re willing for me to use some magic on you,” he offered.

“Anything.”

Anders sent questing tendrils of magic through the elf. He found what he would expect from long-term sleep deprivation. “Your heart-rate’s elevated, your entire system is stressed... dangerously stressed. Any symptoms besides nightmares and sleep loss?”

“Sometimes, I can’t breathe, I feel like my heart is exploding, like I’m dying.”

“Sounds like anxiety attacks. How often?”

“I suppose... every day. It’s getting worse.”

“Fenris... Maker... you’re going to collapse.”

The elf’s head was hanging. His shoulders began to shake... Anders thought he was sobbing, but no tears flowed. Just silent spasms as his face contorted miserably. “I’m just so tired, Anders... I can’t... please, just do something... anything....”

Anders. That was new. “I can give you some potions that can take you to sleep, and keep you there. They won’t stop the dreams, though. I’m going to give you some stamina and blood replenishing potions... your body is wearing down.”

“Can you stop the dreams?”

“Not as such. There’s one thing I could try, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“Tell me.”

“I can go into the Fade with you, when you sleep. You may be in the clutches of a demon. Those nightmares may be its doing.”

“But, I’m not a mage.”

“Mages aren’t the only ones to fall into demonic depredations. We’re just easier prey. Anyone with enough pain or fear will attract certain demons, who will exploit those emotions to feed.”

“What will it take?”

“Just you, falling asleep. And, me, near you, to follow you there. I will be able to see the dream you experience, see if it’s a demon, or just your own mind.” He paused. “If it is a demon, I can kill it, in the Fade.” 

He didn’t mention that, if it wasn’t a demon, it would take a lot of work and cooperation on Fenris’ part to stop the dreams. A lot of talking, feeling, expressing.... all the things Fenris was just so famous for. Well, he could cross that bridge if he came to it.

The elf sighed. “I don’t like it. For several reasons.” He was quiet a moment. “But, I’m desperate. How soon?”

“I can come with you to your mansion, now, if you like.”

And, he did.

\-------------------------------

He hadn’t been inside the elf’s acquired mansion since he’d accompanied Hawke in it’s original sweep for Danarius. In over three years, it hadn’t been cleared of corpses or garbage. The dead bodies were dried and desiccated by now, any odor long since gone. There was a trail through accumulated dust on the floor, leading from the front door to the stairs. Obviously, Fenris didn’t use the downstairs.

He followed the stoop-shouldered warrior up the stairs and into a large room at the top of the landing. There were no corpses, at least, but domestic habits were clearly not a large part of the elf’s personality. There was a table with a pair of chairs, and some candles. A book lay open on it. A couple benches sat near the fireplace. Empty wine bottles littered the floor, along with less fortunate ones, lying in broken shards against the walls. 

Fenris rounded a corner across from the fireplace, and as Anders followed, the site of the elf’s nightly terrors came into view. A bed, modest, large enough for two, sat angled in the corner. It was surrounded by books, probably Fenris’ attempts to calm after a dream, woo himself to sleep, or even keep himself from drifting off. 

Fenris began to light candles in the bed’s little nook. He caught Anders watching him. “Light helps, when I wake.”

He nodded. “I remember.” He opened the pack he’d brought, and got out his sleeping roll. 

“You don’t need that, Mage,” Fenris said. “The bed’s big enough for two.”

“I didn’t want to assume you’d be comfortable with me in bed with you.” He was pleased... It was hard enough for him to sleep, without it being on a hard tile floor.

“We did well enough on Sundermount.”

Fenris didn’t waste time getting down to business. He stripped down to his leggings, and crawled between the blankets. Anders thought for a moment, and opted to doff his coat and boots. He lay on top of the covers, and turned to face the elf. Fenris’ eyes were already drooping, his exhaustion was acute. As soon as the elf’s breathing slowed in the cadence of sleep, Anders followed him into the Fade.

Normally, a ritual was needed to enter the Fade in a conscious state. One of the perks of hosting a Fade spirit, was the ability to simply walk on in, so to speak. It’s an unsettling experience at the best of times, so Anders didn’t do it... well... at all. 

He felt the creepy-crawly sense of the place, heard the strange whooshing and sing-song nature of it. He knew Fenris should be somewhere nearby. Even if he wasn’t dreaming, yet, he would be visible.

A short walk on a convoluted path brought him to a bed, Fenris kneeling beside it. The elf knelt motionless, dressed as he had been for sleep. Anders kept a distance, and watched. In time, a figure manifested before the elf. An older man, bearded, dressed in Tevinter-style robes. It must be Danarius. The manifestation seemed to be of Fenris’ own making, there was no demon present. Anders stayed to watch it play out. A demon might appear, later.

The dream-Danarius reached a hand to pet Fenris’ hair, the stroking motions much like one would pet a dog, rather than a lover. Fenris turned his gaze to Danarius, eyes shining with devotion. He spoke, his voice a whisper of his waking voice.

“Please, allow me to pleasure you, Master,” he said, leaning his head into the man’s hand.

Anders hadn’t expected this... perhaps it would lead somewhere else. As Danarius nodded, and Fenris began to remove the man’s clothing, then his own; Anders was disturbed. There was no sense of force or pain in the dream. Not that there had to be, for an enslaved being to be convinced of his adoration of his master. 

As the dream progressed, Anders turned away to afford the real Fenris as much privacy as he could, while maintaining a watch for demonic influence. In time, the sounds from the bed ceased, and he turned to find Fenris lying with his head in Danarius’ lap. The magister was stroking his hair again, telling Fenris what a good pet he was, how pleased he was with him. Fenris basked in the praise, nuzzling against the man, satisfaction clear in his expression. Suddenly, the dream Fenris disappeared. The real Fenris had awakened.

Anders returned to his own body, and opened his eyes to find Fenris’ green orbs staring back at him. 

The elf was panting, clearly upset.

“You saw?” his tired voice croaked.

“Some....”

“Was it... a demon?”

Anders shook his head. “No.”

Fenris’ face was lost in confusion. “Then what was it?” He asked.

Anders sighed. “It’s your own mind, Fenris. Fade spirits set the stage, but mortals bring their dreams with them.”

“I wanted to experience that?” His voice was disbelieving. “You’re saying I wanted to relive that?“

“No, not necessarily. You don’t always dream what you want, Fenris. But, there’s something you need, on some level, that makes you go there. Is it always the same dream?”

Fenris sat up, and buried his face in his hands. He was still trembling, and Anders didn’t think it was from the dream. His reply was muffled. “No... there are many different dreams.” He shuddered. “I feel sick.” Apparently, he meant it literally, because the next second, he was bolting from the bed, and sprinting out the door. 

Anders sat up, heard him retching. In time, the elf staggered back through the door, and grabbed a wine bottle. He pulled from it, rinsed, and spit into the dying fire. He dropped to a bench, the bottle tilting up to pull a long drink from it. 

Anders crossed to him, and took the bottle from his unresisting hand. “This won’t give you the solace you seek,” he softly said. “It can make dreams worse.” He sat beside him.

The elf began to speak. His voice was low, tired, defeated. “Danarius wasn’t particularly cruel, as Magistrate Masters go. He was cold. So cold. Cold enough to kill a young boy to use his blood as fuel for a party trick. Cold enough to put me through the pain of these markings.”

Anders listened quietly. He was surprised that the elf was opening up so easily, without prompting. It was a definite sign of his fatigue, that he was so unguarded. This was exactly what Anders would have tried to get Fenris to do, anyway. 

“It’s common practice for Masters to use their favored slaves for pleasure, particularly if they prefer the company of men. Tevinter isn’t as open about same-gender relationships as the South is.” He paused. “I was favored by Danarius. 

“Normally, he ignored my presence. I was expected to serve him, to be where I was needed, when I was needed, to execute my duties perfectly. I usually did, too. If I did not, Danarius was quick to punish me. Not with joy, I don’t think, but simply because I had performed poorly. My feelings were not worth consideration; if I was without sleep, in pain, hungry... I was still expected to perform at top level.

“The only time I received praise was if I had pleasured him. He did not often command it. He was older, and power in the Magistrate was his greatest pleasure. A dalliance with his slave was a trifle.”

Fenris’ expression changed to disgust. “I grew to crave it. I would ask for it. I would kneel before him, and beg for his use. Not for the act, itself. That part was painful. 

“I wanted what came afterward. Danarius would be... affectionate. He would praise me, talk kindly to me, touch me gently. Not for long... but....” his voice trailed off.

Anders was quiet. He hurt for the elf. 

Fenris stirred, looking down at his hands in his lap. “You must find this amusing.”

“No. I find it familiar.”

Fenris raised his eyes. “How so?”

The mage sighed heavily. “Why do you think I was so promiscuous in my younger years? Sure, the sex I had was pleasurable. But, what I wanted was affection. Solace. Connection. Sex was a means to that end.”

Fenris’ gaze was steady on his, fascinated. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. Exactly so.” He examined his hands, again. “Why do I still dream of it? How pathetic must I be? I begged for it in my slavery; now I beg for it in my dreams.” He buried his head in his hands.

“It’s not pathetic to need affection and kindness. It’s natural. I’m guessing that what you dreamed about is the only way you ever found it. Which might be why you’re dreaming of it. You need it, but haven’t found it, elsewhere.”

Fenris looked at him with a frown. “I don’t want to need it. I’m not going to look for it.”

“We all need someone, or something, to comfort us. Someone who tells us we’re important, or that we are worthy. Why do you think I look for a cat in a city obviously devoid of them? Why do I heal half the city’s underworld without pay?”

“I had never given it thought, Mage. It just seemed part of your particular peculiarity.”

“My particular peculiarity is that I’m lonely, Fenris. Hawke is the only one willing to extend friendship to me. I’m reviled, and feared, and alone. I never wanted to be any of those. No one, as a child, thinks to himself, ‘I want to be a pariah when I grow up.’ Circumstances, bad choices, bad luck.”

“I had never thought of it like that,” the elf said around a yawn.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” Fenris nodded, standing and staggering. Anders caught him, held him upright. “Let’s go.”

Settled on the bed, again, Fenris was out before Anders even lay down. He settled himself, and followed him to the Fade.

He walked further, this time, before he came upon the elf. Again, Fenris knelt, motionless. In time, multiple figures appeared. A village, people with dress and appearance that Anders didn’t recognize. Fenris stood, and looked... happy. At ease. He laughed with a man who spoke to him.

Danarius appeared. He gave a command, and Fenris turned to the people. He drew his weapon. He cut them down. More appeared, and he did the same. Over and over, he felled the people. Young, old, children... All met the same fate at his blade. He was standing knee deep in bodies, covered in blood. He turned to Danarius. And, then he ran. His retreating figure disappeared abruptly. 

Anders returned.

Fenris was sitting upright, looking much like he had after the dream on Sundermount. He gasped for air, his hand over his heart, sweated, ashen, trembling. He was on his way to a panic attack.

Anders sat up, and put a hand on his back. “I’m here. You’re safe. Do you know where you are?”

He nodded, pulling deep breaths. Tears began streaming down his face. “I... did it... I killed them all...” he began to sob. “Maker, I did it. I did it. I killed them all.” 

Fenris collapsed against him, and wept. His sobs wracked his frame, tears soaked Anders’ tunic. The mage felt hands plucking at his sleeves, and he wrapped both arms firmly around the sobbing elf. 

Long moments passed as Fenris exorcised his grief in tears. Slowly, his sobs gentled, until he was making small hiccups, sniffling against the mage’s shoulder. And, as quickly as before, the elf drifted into sleep, leaning against Anders.

Carefully, to avoid waking the elf, Anders lay back down, taking Fenris with him. In moments, he joined the elf in exhausted sleep.

The morning found him more rested than he'd been in a long time. He opened his eyes to a strange room, in a strange bed, with a warm body spooned in front of him. 

A glance at the snow white hair on his pillow brought him clarity. He disengaged from the sleeping elf, and rolled onto his back. Fenris had apparently slept well, too. Anders’ eyes were drawn by early light coming through the ceiling. It was falling down, multiple tiles missing, leaving great gaping holes in the roof. There appeared to be glass panels in place of the tiles. It was the most unconventional skylight he'd ever seen.

He drifted back to sleep again.

When he next woke, morning was full, and light poured through the ceiling. He stretched, and turned, looking for Fenris.

"I'm here," the distinct voice said. He sat up, and saw the elf on a bench in front of the fire. He smelled porridge, with apple and cinnamon, and saw the pot near the hearth. "There's breakfast, if you want it," Fenris added.

"The loo?"

"To the left."

Anders found the room, and after washing up and relieving himself, he made his way back to the alluring aroma. Fenris handed him a bowl and spoon, and he helped himself. Fenris took a bowl as well, and they sat in silence, eating their breakfast.

"I slept," the elf said, finally.

Anders nodded. "I noticed. I did, too." He looked at the elf in the morning light. He was still ghastly pale with dark circles encasing his eyes, but he didn't look like he was on the bitter edge of falling apart. "You look a little better."

"I feel a little better."

They finished their food, and sat side-by-side, contemplating the flames in the hearth.

"You want to tell me about that last dream?"

"No. But, I will," he said with some resignation. He spoke of the Fog Warriors, the people who had taken him in. People who'd accepted him, shared their lives with him, taught him what freedom was. And, he spoke of Danarius' return. Of his command to kill the village. Of his obeisance to that order. How he stood, surrounded by carnage wrought by his blade, covered in the blood of those who'd cared for him. How he realized then, that he must leave Danarius now, or be forever lost. How he'd run. 

"I grieve what I did, every single day I awake. I hate what I was, what I allowed Danarius to make me. Why did it take my greatest sin, my worst nightmare, to realize this?"

"How could you have known, before then? You'd lived your entire memory as Danarius' puppet. You had no way of knowing."

"I’d have been better off if I’d never been left on Seheron. If I'd never been free.”

“No. How can you say that? You’re free, now. How can you wish to return?”

“You misunderstand. I don’t wish to return. Too much has happened since then. I’ve changed too much to be his pet, again. I will fight for my freedom, now.

"But, if I’d never left, if I’d never known any different... I’d be content. I'd never have known the freedom the Fog Warriors showed me. Never would have killed them. Never known this guilt and pain. 

"I wouldn't know any different. Not knowing was a blessing, of sorts."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Fenris."

"My loss?"

"The Fog Warriors. They were the first people who cared about you, and you lost them. Danarius took them from you. You may have wielded the sword, but you were not free, then. You were his tool of destruction. And, I'm sorry."

Fenris stared at him for a long time, green eyes inscrutable. He looked away into the embers of the fire, finally, and nodded.

"I need to head to the clinic, soon. Are you alright?"

The elf nodded. "Mage... thank you for coming last night."

"My pleasure."

"Would you... would you be willing to come, again... tonight?"

"I would. I'll see you at sundown."


	2. In the Comfort of My Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and anxiety continue to beset Fenris in the night..
> 
> Both men find a way toward sleep.

He returned to the mansion at sundown, as agreed. He brought his sleep clothes, this time. Fenris' room was much warmer than Darktown on a winter's night, and he’d been too warm in his robes. He also brought some sleeping potions, just in case Fenris changed his mind about them.

The elf in question still looked ready to collapse. Ready in his own sleep clothes, Fenris made for the bed as soon as Anders entered, and was out immediately. Changing quickly, Anders joined him. He enjoyed the feeling of being horizontal for just a moment, then closed his eyes and entered the Fade.

Fenris stood in a large ballroom. Danarius appeared, standing in front of him, speaking to a few other men. The ballroom filled with finely dressed, wine-sipping nobles. Soft music played, intermission to a dance. As Danarius moved through the crowd, Fenris followed, a few feet behind his left shoulder. His eyes were focused on Danarius, skittering about the nearby crowd occasionally, and then back to the Magister.

They left the party, and moved down a hallway, then through a door. Inside, a man in regal clothing reclined on a bed. Danarius spoke to the man, who replied jovially, standing to greet him. Both men turned to look at Fenris, who knelt before them. As Denarius turned to leave, Fenris stood. He began to remove his armor and clothing.

Anders turned away, seething inside. He didn't wait to hear what happened next. He left the Fade, and opened his eyes to see Fenris asleep, his eyes flickering under his lids, breathing rapid, in a sweat. He reached out, and put his hand on the elf's arm. 

"Fenris... wake up. Fenris."

The elf jolted awake, startled. His huge eyes jerked to Anders' face. He panted in fear or anger. 

"I'm sorry... I couldn't let you live through that, again," he explained. His hand squeezed Fenris' arm. "I'd have killed that bastard in the dream, if it'd make any difference."

Fenris' other hand came to rest on Anders'. He squeezed his eyes shut. "It wouldn't make any difference. He is but one of many."

"Maker's balls, Fenris... I... what can I do? What can I say?"

"You are doing it. You are saying it." The room was dimming as the fired died to coals. "Would you make your lights, again?"

Anders flicked his fingers at the ceiling, and the little lights scattered about the room. He conjured several sets, of varying colors. They lay in companionable silence, watching the lights above.

The elf's voice was subdued. "I've never seen such beautiful magic."

Anders was surprised to hear that, coming from the elf. "Thank you.” He proceeded carefully. “Listen, I don’t want to intrude, but, if you want, I could come here each night. Try to make sense of your dreams with you. The thought of you spending each night, re-living... I’m hoping I can find a way to reduce them.”

Fenris closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Mage, I would be grateful....”

“Then, I will. When you start to have... certain dreams... do you want me to wake you? Or, would you rather see them through?”

“You mean the dreams of being used. Wake me. Venhedis, I don’t want to live through them, again.”

\------------------------------------------------

For several nights, Anders traveled the elf’s dreamscape with him. Some dreams repeated themselves, relentlessly. Danarius, using Fenris. Fenris, being handed to various men for use. Various presentations of the elf killing the Fog Warriors. 

Each time, Fenris woke in a sweat, shaking, occasionally in tears. Anders was careful not to embrace Fenris, uninvited. As comfortably as they seemed to be sharing space for this treatment, Anders couldn’t forget the acerbic warrior was not necessarily his friend. They were brought together to help Fenris’ dreams and sleep. 

After a particularly bad night, Anders had finally managed to calm Fenris’ final panic attack. It was after sunrise before he’d lulled him to sleep. It had taken careful embrace, combined with his fairy lights and soft stroking of the elf’s back. Now, the mage lay with Fenris’ head on his chest, rubbing the sleeping elf’s back. Anders was reminded of his childhood. He’d had a younger brother, prone to night terrors. Lighting a candle and rubbing his back had been the only way to get him back to sleep, again.

He heard the door downstairs open and close. Judging by the silence that followed, he guessed it was Hawke. Sure enough, the man’s bearded, tousled head peered through the door. To say he was surprised by the scene he found would have been an understatement.

Anders quickly held a finger to his lips, and beckoned the rogue forward. He glanced down at the elf’s face, burrowed into his chest. He slept on. Speaking in a barely-there whisper, he addressed Hawke.

“He’s been having sleep disturbances. He’s in a bad way, Hawke. I’ve never come across such a severe case.”

Hawke took in the elf’s face. “He looks like hell,” he whispered in return.

Anders looked down at him, again. Still ashen, eyes still sunken in dark sockets, brow furrowed even in sleep. “Yes. He’s been going through hell.”

Hawke gestured at the pair entangled on the bed. “This is the treatment?”

Anders tried to hold back a chuckle. “Hardly. He had a very bad night. This is what finally got him to sleep.”

Hawke nodded. “We had to do the same for Carver, when he was young, and had nightmares.” He frowned, remembering the brother he’d lost. “So, I shouldn’t plan on him for work, for a while?”

“No. Me either, since I’ll be with him.”

“You’re a braver man than I am.”

After Hawke left the pair, Anders closed his eyes and succumbed to his own fatigue.

When he woke, the sun was beating down through the skylight. Noon, apparently. He stretched with a huge yawn, and felt a weight shift on his chest. Fenris’ head lifted, and blinked sleepily at him. Both found the memory of the previous night at the same time.

“I slept,” the elf said, rolling onto his back.

“Me, too.”

“We did that once before.”

“Oh, I know. I remember it fondly.”

“Why do you think we were able to?”

“Search me. I rather thought the first time was because you cried yourself to sleep. There’s no sleep like that. Just takes you down.”

“That didn’t happen, this time.”

“No. Though, we did cuddle, each time.”

“I don’t cuddle.”

“Whatever. We held each other. We were close.”

“You think that would make us both sleep?”

Anders shrugged. “We’re both starved for affection. Getting it probably reduced your nightmares for a few hours. Don’t shoot daggers at me. Admit it, or not, you are lonely. I freely admit that I am. And, even if we don’t necessarily like each other, our bodies and subconscious crave the connection.”

Fenris grumbled. He got out of the bed, and made for the loo. He moved more easily, Anders noted. The sleep had helped. He rose, changed into his robes, and set off for the clinic. 

\------------------------------

Anders walked through a large villa, with open air rooms, fluttering curtains, slaves in flowing livery. Anders finally found the dream-Fenris in a deep, downstairs room. He was chained to the floor. The chain ran to a heavy collar around his neck, the tether too short to allow him to sit up. A bowl of food was on the floor, out of his reach. A woman sat in a cushioned chair, just outside the door. 

Fenris looked nearly as exhausted as did in the waking world. As his eyes dropped closed, the woman aimed a spell at him. It set each lyrium line aglow with angry light, causing the elf to bite back a cry, and nearly bow up off of the floor. Fenris tried to stay awake, but his eyes began to droop again, and the same punishment hit him.

The dream scene stopped, and he turned just in time to see Fenris vanish. He followed.

Fenris was pissed-off. 

"Bitch!"

"Who was she?"

"Danarius' apprentice. She was a constant torment. That was her favorite little game when Danarius left for any period of time."

"Danarius didn't care?"

Fenris rounded on him. "Of course, he didn't care! He handed me off to the brutality of men he barely knew, for a favor. Why would he care about a little lack of sleep and a skipped meal or two?"

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Bah. Why am I angry at you? You're trying to help. You ARE helping. Forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive." The elf threw himself back onto the bed. He stared at the lights, still floating above. "I thought they went out when you slept."

"Technically, I haven't slept. My consciousness still remains in the Fade. It's not the same as sleeping."

"You're losing sleep to help me?"

"No. Remember, I don't often sleep. Even if I was losing any, it'd be worth it. Justice likes the lyrium you possess. It sends him into a coma. Getting a break from him has been delightful."

"The demon likes my lyrium?"

"Apparently."

“Why would it like my lyrium? It doesn’t react when you use lyrium potions, does it?”

“No, good point.” Anders considered the markings on the elf’s body. “The lines are white; lyrium is blue. If they were simply lyrium, it would have killed you, by now. It must be a lyrium composite, of some kind. Whatever it is... it calms Justice.”

Fenris contemplated the fairy lights above him. He still looked exhausted. He’d had only two to three hours of sleep each night in the week since they’d last slept through the morning. Anders, as well, since his sleep coincided with the elf’s. The mage was lucky enough to have Warden stamina, or he’d have been on the edge of collapse, as much as Fenris.

"You said sleeping potions won't stop the dreams?"

"Right. You'd still have them, but you’d be unable to wake from them.”

The elf looked utterly defeated. “I’m so tired."

“Do you want to try... cuddling?”

“Yes,” Fenris sighed in reply. 

Anders knew just how bad the elf was feeling, when he didn’t argue. The mage opened his arms. 

"Come here, then," he said quietly.

Fenris slid against him. There was an awkward moment as they figured-out what to do with their limbs. Finally, arms draped around the other, they settled. In a heartbeat, the elf was out. He slept in his odd, silent, motionless sleep. If not for the small rise and fall of his ribs as he breathed, Anders wouldn't know he was alive. Were all elves so silent?

Anders lay awake awhile, alert for signs of another dream. Time passed, and Fenris slept undisturbed. Anders yawned, and felt the tug of the Fade. He closed his eyes, and drifted into sleep.

When he floated into wakefulness, early the next morning, he was lying face-to-face against Fenris. Limbs entwined, they had apparently slept another blissful half-night. 

He was reluctant to move. Fenris needed the sleep. And, if he was honest with himself, after so long sleeping alone, waking in an embrace was delightful. Fenris was warm, and for being the prickliest man in existence, he was remarkably cuddly. Anders' hand began a slow, gentle rub along the elf's spine. In sleep, the scowl had smoothed from the elf’s face. He looked peaceful, calm. 

His rumination was interrupted by a small groan coming from the man in his arms. Anders looked for signs of dreaming, but instead found the elf’s eyes on his. He halted his hand’s motion. The elf whispered, “Continue.” Anders quirked the corner of his lips, and resumed the massage. 

Fenris sighed, closing his eyes, again.

“Have you ever had a proper massage?”

“Hardly. Who massages a slave? And, even free, who massages an angry, lyrium-tattooed elf?”

“Well, apparently, I do. Roll over on your stomach.”

“Wha-a-a-t?”

“I’ll give you a back rub. Might help you relax.”

Fenris gave him a searching look, but finally shifted onto his front. 

“Would this be more comfortable on your lyrium lines if I did it outside your shirt, or on bare skin?”

“Bare skin, probably. Do you have anything to cut down the friction on them?”

“Of course.” He leaned over the side of the bed for his pack. He pulled out an herbal lotion he had brought for just this sort of thing. It was mildly relaxing and soporific. Fenris pulled his sleep top over his head, and Anders began.

For an elf, Fenris was well-muscled. Of course, he swung around a sword nearly taller than him, and half as wide. His neck and back were iron-tight. Anders used his respectable skill to soften and relax the muscles. By the time he was halfway down his back, the elf was moaning freely with the sensation. Anders had to smile to himself. He’d never seen Fenris so unrestrained. 

He stopped his ministrations when he reached the waistband of his sleep pants. He pulled the blankets back up to keep the muscles warm, and lay down again. He was reluctant to leave the bed. It was cozy, and Darktown was cold. He thought Fenris had drifted back to sleep, but he slowly turned his head to face him.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“Is there any aspect of healing that you don’t know?” The question surprised him. Was Fenris actually complimenting him?

“I’m sure there is. But, I do know a lot. I always figured, anything worth doing, is worth doing right. I learned all I could. And, simply being a healer means continued acquisition of knowledge.”

“I imagine. Danarius knew no healing magic; most magisters don’t. It’s considered a ‘soft specialty’ in Tevinter. Magisters, as a rule, are not inlined toward softness.” Something in the elf’s expression told Anders he was thinking of the way he was treated by them when he master loaned him out.

Anders chose his words carefully. “Fenris... did it happen a lot?”

The elf shrugged. “What’s a lot? There was Danarius. Various members of the Magisterium and Senate. The odd visiting diplomat or scholar. One was much as another.”

“Maker.” He felt absolutely awful. “Fenris, you shrug it off, but it’s really horrifying, what you went through. It breaks my heart.”

Fenris rolled onto his back. “You... care?”

“Of course I care. Most people would care. You were unconscionably abused.”

Fenris looked out the skylight above. “No one has ever known what happened to me. No one has asked about my past. I told Hawke about the Fog Warriors. He thought it was bad, but... he didn’t understand how bad it was. How it made me feel.”

“Not everyone can absorb the import of another’s pain.”

“No.” He was quiet, thinking. He suddenly gave a jaw cracking yawn.

“Can we sleep some more?”

“Maker, yes. Roll over.” The two men spooned together, and drifted into another few, blissful, hours of sleep.

\-----------------------------------

As weeks passed, Anders continued to spend each night in the elf’s bed. The mage would wait for Fenris to drift into sleep, then follow him into the Fade. Not all of the elf’s dreams were upsetting, or even about the past. The usual flotsam and jetsam of daily life played-out in Fenris’ dreamscape. Some revolved around current events. Hawke was most prominent in them. Various members of the Band of Misfits appeared. He dreamt of battle, travel, food. The sort of things about which anyone might dream.

Those from the elf’s past often depicted scenes with Danarius. Many seemed to be the simple, mundane memories. Anders knew that Fenris had no memories from prior to the markings. It made sense that most of his history revolved around his former master.

But, each night, several times, if not more, he would dream of abuses leveled against him. Usually Danarius, at the request of the dream-Fenris. Sometimes other men, to whom Danarius loaned him. Danarius’ cruel apprentice featured occasionally. Worse, were the variations of the Fog Warrior massacre. Those dreams continued to bring Fenris into deep distress, even panic attacks. As he promised, Anders woke Fenris from the distressing dreams as soon as he recognized them for what they were. Even so, the elf felt the anxiety caused by them.

After about a half-night of dreaming, the two men would meet in the middle of the bed. Wrapped around each other, they would sleep. Typically, Fenris would sleep undisturbed. Occasionally, a dream pulled him from his rest. When that happened, Anders kept the elf in his arms and rubbed his back. Usually, they would fall back into sleep. This sleep went a long way in restoring Fenris. He lost his pallor, and began to regain energy. Although still shadowed, his eyes lost the sunken appearance they’d had. 

Sometimes, even when cuddled against the elf, Anders’ insomnia was not to be reasoned with. He didn’t mind, overly much. Lying with the man in his arms, Anders almost felt... content. At the least, it was better than shivering on his cold cot in Darktown.

After a few weeks, Anders came across something unusual in the elf’s dreamscape.  
Fenris had just drifted to sleep, and Anders followed him. When he found Fenris, he was on a sandy beach. The setting was faded, the colors muted. The scene wavered, slightly, and Fenris became a child. A small, wiry boy of about ten years, black haired and deeply tanned. A woman and a younger girl joined him. There was no real meaning in the scene... simply a family outing on the beach. Fenris ran, threw a ball with the girl, splashed in and out of the waves. Anders couldn't hear any sounds. The scene was silent. The scene ended, leaving Fenris standing on the sandy beach, alone. 

He described the dream to Fenris the next morning. The elf had no idea who the people were, nor where.

“I’ve been on beaches, with Danarius. Minrathous is on the coast, after all.”

“But, the woman and girl? No idea?

“No. Are you sure the boy was me?”

“He looked like you probably would have, as a child. Similar features, same eyes. You became him in the Fade, so I have to say, yes. It was you.”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t know.”

\---------------------------------------------

They were sharing a tent, as they had, months ago, the first night Anders had witnessed the elf’s dreams. The mage had been prepared to spend the night alone on the mission. He was sure Fenris would balk from the others knowing they shared a bed at night. Anders was surprised when the elf simply carried the mages’ belongings into Fenris’ tent. The other members of their party sent curious glances their way. Hawke said that Anders was helping Fenris with a sleep disorder, and nothing more was said.

He guessed it was so easily accepted because nothing else about their behavior appeared unusual. The only time they talked was when they met for sleep, and to discuss the dreams. Fenris usually provided breakfast, for which the mage was gratified. Otherwise, they went about their lives.

The mission was not what anyone had expected. Slavers interrupted their plans with demands for the elf’s return. Well, that wasn’t happening. Fenris beat the plans and information from a surviving fighter, who didn’t survive long.

Hadriana, a name Anders had not heard, before, was tracked down in the slaver’s ruins. He may not have known her name, but Anders recognized her from the elf’s dreams. The mage took particular pleasure in beating the woman down with all that he had. In the end, watching Fenris crush her heart provided a thrill that the healer seldom felt when witnessing death. The bitch had it coming.

In the tent, Fenris dreamed of the Fog Warriors. Anders came out of the Fade and woke the elf as soon as the scene started. Fenris, already in a sweat, sat up, panting. He sucked down the water Anders handed him.

Fenris handed back the water skin. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and lay back down. He looked at the fairy lights in the peak of the tent.

“When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep.” His great green eyes turned to Anders. “You saw.”

“I did.”

“The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now... I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I should be happy now that Hadriana is dead. Instead, I feel nothing but... disquiet. This hate... I thought I’d gotten away from it. But, it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me... it was too much to bear.” The elf sighed. “I don’t mean to burden you further.”

“Well, first, it’s not a burden. Second, who will understand better than I? I watched her in your dreams. I know what she did. Had you ripped her heart out, we’d have all seen it to be as black as her soul.”

Fenris huffed a small, not-quite-laugh. “Indeed.”

“Do you want more dreams, tonight?”

“Maker, no.” 

Anders opened his arms. Fenris rolled into him, embracing him in return. He didn’t settle for sleep immediately, as usual. He looked into the mage’s eyes a moment. 

“You are a good healer, Mage. I had not anticipated such devotion to my dilemma.”

Anders gave a crooked smile. “You’re a good patient. You listen to my ideas, and work with me on the treatment. And, I’ll admit... I like the sleep I’m able to get with you.”

Fenris almost smiled, catching Anders by surprise. “Yes, I appreciate that, as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling Fenris... sooooooo sweet.


	3. Misty Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris learns more about why he has certain dreams.
> 
> Anders appears in two very different dreams.

The black haired boy ran amongst the group of children, as they tossed a ball back and forth in a complicated pattern. He was fast, agile, quickly outmaneuvering his fellows. He laughed as he ran, lost in the simple joy of of the game.

“There was a ballgame children often played on the grounds of the estate,” Fenris said. “It was very energetic. I don’t recall ever playing it.”

“Well, in your dream, you did. You were also good at it.”

“I’m good at most physical activities.”

Anders noted it wasn’t said with pride. Fenris was simply stating a fact. Well, he had to admit, it was true. The elf had body intelligence. 

\---------------------------------

The appearance of Fernis’ bad dreams slowly decreased. Anders knew it was in large part due to the elf’s startling willingness to talk about them. The dreams manifested from his own feelings. Getting those feelings out and expressed took away fodder for the dreams.

Frankly, Anders was astonished by how easily the laconic elf talked to him. He chalked it up to the fact that when he’d finally come for help, he was on the bitter edge of a breakdown. His barriers had been down. Once he’d started talking, it was easy to continue.

Anders was still trying to find information on the silent dreams he witnessed. There had been several more. All silent and faded. Most involved the same woman and girl. Fenris was always young and black haired. Anders had a hypothesis forming, but kept it to himself until he had more to work with.

Talking with Fenris about his dreams and his past had evolved. Fenris began to ask Anders about the mage’s dreams. Which led to him asking about the mage’s past.

“Why did you run so often from the Circle?”

“You’re joking, right? How long have you been on the run, now?”

“You admit you were not abused there. You had safety, education, the company of others like you. What did you seek that you could not have in the Circle?”

“Freedom.”

“Ah. Forgive my confusion. But, had I been able to trade my slavery for what you had in the Circle, I’d have done it in a heartbeat.”

“I get that. Your experience was brutal, Fenris. At the time, mine felt pretty bad. You were called a slave, so you were abused without thought. I am called a mage, so I am caged without thought.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“So are you.”

“You were demonically possessed.”

“I was not!”

“Justice.”

“Oh, I am not going there, again. He is not a demon. That’s it, this line of questioning is over.”

They lay and watched the fairy lights for a while, in silence. Fenris spoke.

“Do you ever dream of your family?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you ever think of contacting them?”

“No. My father’s opinion was clear. I would not be welcome in their life.”

“Do you miss them?”

“I miss the life I had as a child. I miss the life I thought I would have as an adult.”

“Hadriana said I have a sister.”

“I caught that.”

“Could that be the girl in my silent dreams?”

“I don’t know. Could be. Will you try to contact her?”

“I don’t know.” The elf yawned.

“Ready for dreams, or sleep?”

“Let’s try another dream.”

Anders walked the twisting path in the misty Fade. He came upon Fenris, standing on a cliff overlooking a valley. A figure appeared and approached him. It took him a moment, but the mage recognized himself. He was surprised. He’d never appeared in the elf’s dreams, before.

The dream Fenris and Anders sat on a log. Side-by-side, they looked over the valley. Not speaking, not moving. Just sitting in companionable silence. 

Anders watched, to see if more would play-out. When nothing did, he left the Fade, and opened his eyes to the sleeping elf. Fenris eventually rolled over in his sleep, and took his place in Anders’ arms. Anders closed his eyes, and joined him in slumber.

\-----------------------------------

Memories. Suppressed memories. Typically caused by an emotional trauma. More rarely by magical means or physical injury. May be viewed in the Fade as remnant dreams. Typically unremembered by the dreamer. 

Anders had finally found what he’d been looking for. A tome sent to him by a certain Dreamer mage now apprenticed in Tevinter.

It made perfect sense. Fenris had experienced emotional and physical trauma. It was entirely possible that Danarius had taken them through magical means.

“They’re my own memories?”

“Apparently.”

“Tell me about them, again.” Anders found his journal, and searched for his notes regarding Fenris’ dreams. 

“You can read them, if you like.”

“I can’t read. Hawke began teaching me. He grew impatient, and I grew impatient with his impatience. So, we stopped. I don’t have the aptitude.”

“I find that hard to believe. Actually, I find it impossible to believe. My guess, is that Hawke didn’t have the aptitude to teach. He’s more of a physical being.”

“As am I.”

“I saw all the books in here, and just assumed....”

“I kept trying, on my own. I’m no further along.”

Anders chewed his lip. Fenris was a physical being, it was true. But, he also spoke three languages, that Anders knew of. He was politically astute. He was quick in debates. His vocabulary was impressive. The mage filed it all away to think over.

“OK. I’ll read them aloud, then.”

He watched the elf’s intense concentration as Anders read. He hung on every word. The mage wasn’t surprised. Most things the elf did were done with intensity. Arguing. Killing. Sleeping.

“The things in those dreams really happened. I was that boy. I lived with my mother and sister.”

“Looks that way.”

Fenris stared at the mage. Intently, of course. “What?” Anders finally asked.

“You learned of this. You searched for an answer to this question.”

“Uh. Yes.”

“For me.”

“Yes, for you. Although, I was curious, too.”

“Why did you do this?”

“Why would I not?”

“Because I am not always pleasant to you.”

“Well, I won’t argue that. But, you have been quite pleasant, of late. And, you’re my patient, more or less.”

“More or less?”

“Our lines have blurred a bit. I don’t mind. But, we’ve moved into... something different.”

“What, exactly?”

“I don’t know, exactly.”

Fenris looked down, frowning. “Do you wish to stop?”

“No. I very much want to continue. As long as you do.”

“I do.”

“Well, then.”

\-----------------------------------

The black haired boy was older, in this memory. Mid-teens, perhaps. His facial features looked more like the adult Fenris. He was in an arena with other similarly aged boys. He was practicing sword movements. He had no lyrium lines.

“I don’t remember learning to use a blade. I just knew how. I’ve always been proficient.”

“You’re more than proficient with a blade, Fenris. You’re like a dancer. Strong, graceful, confident.”

“You see all that in my wielding a sword?”

“Anyone would see that. And... I’m guessing no one had ever told you how good you are.”

“Not that I remember, anyway. When I was not punished for my performance, I knew I was acceptable.”

“Maker’s breath.”

“I know sword forms. They’re very like a dance. I use them, sometimes, as practice.”

“Could I see you perform them, sometime?”

“If you like.”

\----------------------------------

Hawke’s mother was hideously murdered. The Qunari tried to take over the city. The Viscount was executed. Hawke had saved the day, and Isabela, with it. 

“Can you deny that only a mage would have been able to do what Quentin did?” Fenris challenged intently.

“No. Can you deny that it doesn’t take a mage to commit atrocities?”

“No. But, even Kendal could not have done what Quentin did, and he was as much of a madman.”

“Kendal used the abilities at his disposal to commit his crimes. Just as Quentin did.”

“No Saarebas would be able to do what he did. He would have been controlled from day one.”

“Are you suggesting that’s what should happen to all mages? To me? Seriously?”

“No... I... no.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

“Care to retract the statement?”

“Not really.”

“Sometimes, you really piss me off, Elf. Seriously. Have I ever hurt you? Why do you equate every mage with every wrongdoing committed by any mage in your entire life?”

Fenris stared at him, lips tight, one eye twitching. “You’ve seen my dreams, Mage. Has there ever been any mage in my entire life who has not committed a wrongdoing against me?”

Anders drew a deep breath. “There’s me.”

Fenris blinked in surprise. Anders would have thought it was a comical expression, had the discussion not been so heated.

“I do not believe you would do the things those mages have done. Nor, what Quentin did. I’m not sure what your demon would do.”

“Aarrgghh. I’m not going to go there, tonight. Thank you for your vote of confidence, on those other counts, however.”

Fenris nodded. “Let’s just go to bed.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

\---------------------------------

Anders transcribed his notes of Fenris’ memories into a new journal. Unlike his usual, tight, crimped, script that was designed to save space, he wrote in legible print. 

“What is this?”

“It’s your memories. I thought that you should have them. I mean, they are yours, after all.”

“I cannot read them.”

“I want to teach you to read.”

“Hawke and I tried. I can’t do it.”

“Hawke is a fine fellow. But, I suspect he’s no teacher. I believe you’re very intelligent. I believe you can learn to read and write.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“Because you deserve the opportunity.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, you’re smart, damn it. Look, if you don’t want to, just say so.”

“I do want to, Mage. I’m just.... I do want to.”

“Great. Shall I start coming over after dinner? We can work on it before we hit the hay.”

“That would be fine.”

The elf was damned quick. Anders knew he would be. He had simply needed someone with the patience to teach. The elf worked at it intensely, as he did everything. He was nearly transparent in his pride at learning. Rather like a young student, Fenris looked up eagerly for the slightest compliment or confirmation Anders gave him. 

His nightmares took another drop in frequency. 

In a matter of weeks, Fenris was reading simple sentences. He was also copying those sentences in a careful, printed hand.

“My hand is cramping.”

“Your fingers aren’t used to fine motor detail. You’re used to a big sword, not a tiny quill.”

“Would you like to see the sword forms, before we go to bed?”

“I would.”

They moved to the large downstairs entry. The elf had been right. They were like a dance. A lethal, powerful dance. Anders was captivated. He found a new appreciation for Fenris’ strength and skill. As well as his beauty. He was well-formed, graceful, intense.

“That was mesmerizing,” he told the elf. “Simply beautiful.”

“It’s the only dance I know,” Fenris said. He was almost smiling, pride glowing on his face.

“I also know one dance. It’s with magic.”

“A magic dance?”

“Yep.”

“Can you show me?”

Anders grinned. He held up his hands, and began a slow, controlled cast of his electricity spells. Streams of purple and white flowed from his hands, weaving sinuously about him. Some thin streams, some thick, they flowed and split, and merged. 

Soon, a large area of the room was filled with the trails of sparkling, popping energy, weaving into lovely patterns. They increased speed, and began to zip about the room with snaps and sizzles. Finally, they collided together in a brilliant display of light, and dissolved.

Fenris looked at the mage in surprise. “That was amazing. How did you learn that?”

“I spent a year in solitary confinement. I had plenty of time, and nothing to do.”

As they had slept better in the months since starting their work together, neither drifted into sleep as quickly as they used to. Fenris stretched out, then began shaking his hand to loosen it. Anders took it in his hands, and massaged it. The elf’s eyes watched him with an inscrutable expression. When he let loose of Fenris’ hand, the elf settled himself, and closed his eyes. 

Anders walked the twisting path through the mist. He found Fenris, kneeling beside a bed. Shit. Danarius again, probably. A man approached the kneeling elf. Anders frowned. It was himself. He’d appeared in several innocuous dreams since the first one. To appear in this scenario was unexpected. 

The dream-Anders reached a hand to pet Fenris’ hair, the stroking motions much like one would pet a dog, rather than a lover. Fenris turned his gaze to the dream-Anders, eyes shining with devotion. He spoke, his voice a whisper of his waking voice.

“Please, allow me to pleasure you, Master,” he said, leaning his head into the dream-Anders’ hand.

Anders was gobsmacked. But... perhaps it would lead somewhere else. Please, lead somewhere else. The dream-Anders nodded, and Fenris began to remove the man’s clothing, then his own. 

Anders moved from gobsmacked to horrified. He hoped with all he had that this would change. He watched as his own likeness used Fenris without consideration for the elf’s comfort, just as Danarius had.

Then, he watched as Fenris lay with his head on the dream-Anders’ lap. He heard his own voice telling Fenris how well he had done. Fenris’ face bore the same glowing pride it had when Anders complimented his sword work.

He bolted from the Fade, jerking into reality with a gasp. Fenris was still in the Fade, and there was no sign of distress in the elf.

“Fenris, wake up,” he said. The elf did, rather quickly. He glanced at Anders with a resigned expression.

“You saw that.”

“I did.”

“I apologize.”

“OK, first, we know your dreams aren’t always an exact reflection of your wants and desires. So... what do you think you needed in this dream?”

Fenris covered his face with his hands. “Do we always have to talk about each damned dream?”

“Normally, if you don’t want to, no. In this case; hell yes, we’re going to talk about it. I just watched myself rape you, and I want to know why.”

“I don’t know why.”

“Help me find out. You used to ask Danarius for that, for the affection and praise that followed. Why would you ask me?”

“You make me feel worthwhile.”

“You are worthwhile.”

“You make me feel good about myself.”

“I’m glad. You don’t need me to abuse you to get that.”

“I wish to make you feel good, in return.”

Oh, crap.

“Like... that? Or, in just some way... generally?”

Fenris stared up at the fairy lights.

“I know no other way,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to dream that. I would not ask you for that.”

Anders sighed. “You can’t help what you dream, Fenris. I’m not offended. I was startled that your dream cast me in that role. I would never treat you with such disregard.”

Fenris faced him. “I don’t understand.”

“What Danarius did to you... what I did to you in the dream... is terrible. It’s not what pleasure between two people should be.”

“What else is there?”

Sweet Maker. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“One person takes pleasure, the other hurts.”

“No, that’s not how it should be. It should be two people giving each other pleasure. Give and take. I would never do what happened in the dream. I would pleasure you, in return. I would kiss you... hold you... caress you... take you to the same climax I experienced.”

Fenris was looking at him with fascination. “You would?”

“I mean... that’s how I do it with anybody I’m with.”

Fenris grunted, and looked up at the fairy lights. “That’s hard to imagine.”

Maker-damned elf. “What, because I’m a mage? Are all mages rapists?”

Fenris sighed, and closed his eyes. “I’m not accusing, Anders. I’m saying that it’s hard to imagine a pleasure I’ve never had.”

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m sorry.”

Fenris huffed a short, barely-laugh. “Calm down, Mage.”

“I’m just... never mind. Was this dream about making me feel good, or was it about getting the affection and praise you need?”

Fenris contemplated the lights, again. “Both.”

“OK. Well, how can you get the affection you need?”

“Short of servicing your body, I don’t know.”

“Couldn’t you just ask? I’ve already told you complimentary things. I’d be happy to say more.”

Fenris thought. “I don’t care to trawl for compliments.”

“You’re not trawling. There’s something you need, and I want to help you get it.”

“Tell me more of those kinds of things.”

Good. This is workable. This is what the whole service-my-body thing was about.

“Happy to oblige.You’re brilliant. Your mind is like a steel trap. You’re learning to read much faster than I would have expected. Your sense of humor is dry and subtle and delightful. You’re kind, when you think no one is looking. You’re beautiful, with gorgeous green eyes--”

Maybe he’d gone a little farther than he’d intended.

Fenris did not seem to mind. He was positively glowing. 

“Do you truly believe all those things? You’re not just saying empty words to appease me?”

“They’re all true.”

Fenris turned back to the ceiling. His lips were curved in an almost smile. 

“Isabela thinks I have pretty eyes, too.” 

Anders barked a laugh. “Yeah, but I’m not threatening to wear them as jewelry.”

Fenris continued staring at the ceiling, as though he was repeating every compliment to himself. He grunted.

“What?”

“I didn’t even pleasure you.”

“You don’t need to compromise yourself to get what you need. You ever need to feel worthwhile, just say so. I’m happy to remind you.”

“And, will you give me affection, as well?”

Anders tried to keep his jaw from dropping clean off. Fenris, asking for affection. “You want affection... from me?” 

“I can’t imagine who else I would ask it from.”

Fair enough. “Don’t I do that each time we fall asleep?”

“You hold me so that we will both sleep. Not to give affection.”

“What do you have in mind, then?”

“Would you pet my hair?”

Anders was surprised, again. “I rather thought that might remind you of Danarius.”

“No. You are not Danarius.”

“OK. Now, what might you do to make me feel good... other than pleasure me?”

“What would you like?”

“Well, compliments are always nice. Somehow, I think that might be difficult for you.”

Fenris seemed affronted. “Why would that be difficult? I can say nice things.”

“About me?”

“Yes. You are a good healer. You are a good teacher. You have pretty magic. You are intelligent.”

“Nothing about my devastating good looks?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You are very tall.”

“Now, we’re talking.”

“Do you want affection, as well?”

“Just one thing. Stop calling Justice a demon. Call him a spirit, or Justice, or a being... anything but demon.”

“That’s not affection.”

“It is, to me.”

Fenris pursed his lips, thinking. “Agreed.”

“Maker. I didn’t expect to land that one.” He’d had too many surprises this evening. Yet, he’d be willing to bet that Fenris’ nightmares lessened, after tonight.

The elf moved into his arms. Anders massaged his fingers into the unbelievably silky hair. He spoke in a soft voice.

“You are smart... and witty... and talented... and handsome....”

The elf sighed, and relaxed against the mage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feynriel ex machina. Sure handy having that kid in Tevinter.
> 
> It's my thoughts, obviously, that Fenris has been affection and (positive) attention-starved most of his remembered life.


	4. What Have You Been Up To?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More memories bring more questions.
> 
> Fenris must perform an intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief, non-descriptive rape trigger, perhaps.

Anders added the latest of the memory-dreams to Fenris’ journal. 

“So, a courtyard with serpent statues doesn’t ring a bell?”

“No. Every estate in Tevinter has at least one such statue. The girl wasn’t the same?”

“No. Your sister is a red-haired elf. This was a dark haired human.”

“And, I looked older?” 

“Yes. Late teens, but still with black hair. And, no lyrium. Do you actually remember getting the lyrium?”

“Not in detail. I remember agonizing pain. Everywhere.”

“No faces, or voices, or words?”

“No. Why?”

“Just trying to put things together.”

“I wish I could see the memories.”

“I wish you could, too. Even if you physically went into the Fade, you wouldn’t see these.”

“Have demons ever tried to tempt you in the Fade?”

“Of course. That’s what demons do.”

“You resist?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you not resist when your d-- spirit came to you?”

Anders hid a smirk. The damned elf was trying, at least. “He didn’t want to be in our world. He didn’t want to be in the body he ended up in.”

He watched Fenris furrow his brow and think. “Tell me again... how it happened.”

“Is this going to turn into an ‘abomination’ argument, again? ‘Cause, I’ve really had enough of those.”

“Just tell me the story, again.”

Anders sighed. “Fine.”

He was surprised. The elf listened. He didn’t interrupt, or scoff, or turn snide.

“I’ve seen many abominations....” 

Well, there it went. “I told you, I’ve had enough of these arguments, damn it.”

“Peace, Mage. Let me finish. I’ve seen many abominations. But, none like you.”

“How is that better? I’m a unique abomination?”

“Why are you so quick to take offense?”

“Because you’re so quick to call me a monster.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m not sure, anymore.”

Uhhhhh. “Oh?”

“I’ve lain beside you for months. You’ve tracked me in my dreams. Never have you or your... spirit... tried to tempt me.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t like it. But, I have to admit, it has not acted malevolently, toward me.”

“Right.” He sighed. “The Justice part of me has been much less present since we began to share a bed.”

“The markings.”

“He’s blissed-out. I’ve had an easier time. I feel more grounded. Less angry.”

“So, I’m helping you, as you help me?”

“Very much.”

The elf nodded, looking satisfied. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Anders stood in the Fade and watched as the black-haired, young-man Fenris ran, laughing. He held the hand of the dark-haired young woman, pulling her with him. They ducked into a small bungalow in a garden. They gazed at one another, the kind of gaze that only young love can produce. They kissed. The kiss grew fevered. They fell gracefully to the bed in the room. As their lovemaking ensued, Anders turned away. He felt as though he were intruding on a private moment in Fenris’ life, even if the elf couldn’t remember it. When he finally glanced back, the couple lay in sweet repose, loving satisfaction on their faces. The memory ended.

“We were lovers?” Fenris seemed bewildered by this information.

“You were clearly in love.”

“We had sex.”

“You sure did.”

“And, I enjoyed it? We both enjoyed it?”

“From what I saw, yes.”

“No one was forced?”

“Correct.”

Fenris sat in confusion. “Who was she? What happened to her?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Maybe Varania knows. Maybe she knows where my mother is, too. Maybe she can answer all of my questions.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

Danarius was dead. Fenris had stood his ground, despite the terror that obviously filled him. His friends fought for him, and with him. And, Fenris picked that sick fuck up by the throat, and snapped his neck. Hawke convinced him not to kill his betraying sister. The elf had turned to look at Anders. Then he was gone.

When Anders showed up for their nightly routine, Fenris was waiting. He didn’t want to read or write. He didn’t want to dream. He pulled the mage to the bed, and stole into his arms.

Anders held him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Fenris didn’t speak. He simply shook his head.

Anders’ ran a hand into the elf’s hair, and massaged. 

“You were amazing. You looked him in the face, and declared your freedom. You fought magnificently. And, you snapped that bastard’s neck like a twig. I was proud of you.”

The elf pressed his face into Anders’ shoulder. “Thank you,” came the muffled reply.

\----------------------------------------------

“It’s been a week, and you haven’t said a thing. What of Varania?”

“Nothing, is what of her. She betrayed me. Her own brother.”

“Sounds like things were hard for her.”

“Things were hard for me. I still would never have treated her so. I would have given her everything.”

“Even though she’s a mage?”

“Even so.”

“That’s... surprising.”

“For me, as well.”

“Do you want to try to dream some more?”

“Yes.”

There were rarely bad dreams, anymore. Most nights, Anders watched as the flotsam and jetsam of the elf’s mind played-out in common dream format. Anders played more prominent, and more frequent parts of those dreams. 

Tonight, Fenris had dreamed of the recent battle in the Hanged Man. Anders seemed to play a larger part in it than the mage recalled having done.

The next dream was a memory.

Fenris as a young man, in battle gear, with black hair, still no markings. Standing in a study or laboratory. A chart on the wall showed front and rear sketches of an elven form, lines and swirls traced on it. Anders recognized the design as Fenris’ markings. Danarius walked in a circle around him. He spoke, and Fenris removed his armor and clothing. Danarius resumed his scrutiny of the elf. It was almost clinical. This must be just before the markings were created. Danarius touched Fenris’ skin, stroking him. The contact was less-than clinical.

Fenris was pushed to bend over a table. He looked confused. His face filled with shocked agony as Danarius suddenly took him.

Holy flaming Maker... It was the first time Fenris was.... 

Anders’ gut roiled, and he fled the memory.

In bed, again, he pulled Fenris to him, and buried his face in his shoulder. He felt him stir. The elf’s sleepy voice spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“Fenris... ah, Maker... I’m so sorry.”

“What is it?”

Anders felt like crying. “A memory. Danarius. The first time... he....”

“Oh. How is it any different from any other time he used me?”

“Because you were innocent before that moment. You didn’t know what was happening. It frightened you. Hell, it frightened me.”

Anders felt Fenris’ arms come around him. “I’m sorry you saw it.”

“I’m sorry you endured it.” He shuddered. “I can’t write that in your journal, Fenris.”

“I don’t want it written there.”

Anders lay, holding and being held. His breath slowed. His heart settled. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow, for Orlais.”

“Yes.” Fenris answered.

“Be safe.”

“And, you.”

\-----------------------------------------------

Anders is energized. His mind is consumed with thoughts, ideas, plans. He can’t write fast enough when he works on his manifesto, or in his journal. He sits up in his clinic late into the night. He goes without sleep, Justice’s energy and persistence are sustaining him. Anders is planning, writing, seething. 

Since Fenris left with Hawke and the elf, Talis, Anders has noticed many more Templars and Tranquil in the city. He sees the evil within each Templar, the callousness of the Chantry Sisters and Brothers. He feels the darkness that is falling over the world. A darkness everyone seems determined to ignore. 

He comes across a set of robes in the Gallows courtyard, where he is busy monitoring Templar behavior and movements. They are black, like the times to come, like his own heart is turning, like the oppression he will bring to a halt.

He knows it is up to him. This is why he joined with Justice. He will bring justice. He was distracted for a time, but he remembers, now. Remembers his duty and charge. He will burn the rot from the city, light the first fire of what he knows will be many to come. He will bring cease to the constant pandering and contemplation of compromise. All this talk of compromise makes him see red. Makes him burn with anger. The anger of Justice.

He has a plan. It would be easier if Hawke were here to help him gather what he needs, but he cannot wait. He will manage on his own. He has always been on his own. It makes his sacrifice easier. For, he is certain he will be sacrificed. It is necessary.

There will be justice.

There will be no compromise.

\--------------------------------------------------

Fenris came through the door as his last patient was leaving. 

“You’re back.”

“Yes.” The elf looked him over. “You’re not well.”

“I’m fine. Better than fine. I’ve been very busy.”

“You are exhausted. Have you slept since I’ve been gone?”

“Some. I have too much to do to sleep.”

“Such as?”

“Things you would not be interested to hear.”

“Let me decide what I wish to hear. Tell me about it when you come over, this evening.”

“Why am I coming over?”

Fenris looked surprised. “Perhaps I should not have presumed. I imagined we would continue with the dreams and memories, when I returned.”

“Oh. Right. Yes. It would be unjust not to continue helping you. I’ll be there.”

When Anders arrived at the mansion, Fenris started again, telling the mage he did not look well.

“Who’s the healer, here?” Anders snapped. 

“You, of course. Has your spirit run roughshod over you, since I left?”

“Justice has been a fount of energy and inspiration. I have so many plans.” He began to pace, his manic energy needing outlet as he spoke. 

“You have no idea, Fenris. You don’t see the corruption, the injustices. Things must change. Even if it has to be forced, there must be change. You will see, soon enough.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed, speculatively. “And, what shall I see?”

Anders gestured wildly. “The darkness that has covered the eyes of the Chantry will be replaced with the darkness of smoke and ash. Andraste’s sacrifice will play-out, and bring the changes that must be made. You will bear witness, Fenris. All of Kirkwall will bear witness!”

“Witness to what, Mage?”

“What the world will see,” he hissed. “What the world needs to see.” 

The elf’s markings flared. Suddenly, the manic energy that had sustained him, drained out, as though a plug had been pulled. Anders gasped, swaying on his feet. The ground rushed up at him, and he was caught before he hit the floor.

“No one’s seeing anything tonight, Mage,” Fenris muttered, hoisting his limp form into his arms. Anders’ vision swam. He felt himself laid on a soft surface, and his outer robes and boots removed. Strong arms pulled him against a warm body, and he curled into the embrace. Darkness fell over him, and he slept.

He awoke slowly. He felt peaceful, calm. He opened his eyes, and saw the ceiling of the elf’s bedroom. He was confused. A finger on his chin gently turned his head to the side. He looked into Fenris’ green eyes.

“You are a mess, Mage.”

“Am I?” His voice didn’t work right. His speech was slightly slurred.

“What have you been up to, while I’ve been away?”

“I don’t know.” His thoughts weren’t coming to him properly.

“I think you do. I also think Justice ran you into the ground.” 

Anders gazed at the elf in confusion.

“Go back to sleep,” Fenris said. He closed his eyes, falling back into sleep.

When he awoke again, he burst into tears. Which shocked the elf out of his slumber.

“Mage... what is it?”

Anders continued to weep. His thoughts were his own. He was thinking clearly. He remembered what he had been up to. What had he almost done? What had he nearly perpetrated? All the innocent people....

He felt Fenris awkwardly trying to comfort him. Finally, spooning the mage in front of him, Fenris just held on, and let him cry himself out. When he had, Anders sat up, and then bolted for the loo. He vomited what little was in his stomach. He was a monster. 

When he staggered back into the room, Fenris was putting something to heat over the fire.

“Ready to talk about it?” The elf asked. Anders sat on the bench before the hearth.

“I’m never going to be ready to talk about this.” He buried his face in his hands.

Fenris sat beside him. “I’ll tell you about the trip, then you can tell me what you’ve been up to. You will tell me, Mage. Understand?”

“Whatever.”

“We completed the mission. I had a few bad dreams. I slept poorly. Not as bad as before. And, not because of dreams.” He paused, and his voice lowered, slightly. “Because, I missed you.”

This admission drew a response from the mage. “Really? You did?”

“Yes. Really. I sleep well with you. I also... enjoy spending time with you.” The elf sighed. “Go ahead. Mock me.”

“I’m not mocking that, Elf. That’s... not mockable.”

Fenris nodded. His eyes met the mage’s with serious intent. “Now. Tell me.”

“You’ll never want me near you again.”

“Tell me.”

Anders’ head hung. “I built an explosive device.”

Fenris blinked. He didn’t speak for a moment.

“Why?” He finally asked.

Anders’ voice was a whisper. “So I could blow up the Chantry.”

“This was a Justice-inspired idea, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“Fasta vass.”

Anders felt tears flow, again, and blotted them with his sleeve. “You were right. I’m dangerous. Justice has warped me. Or, I’ve warped him. A few days after you left....”

“He came out of his lyrium-coma.”

“Yes.”

“Anders. This is serious.”

“You think I don’t know that? What can I do, short of being made Tranquil?” His voice caught on the last word. Fenris spun to face him.

“That’s not happening. You are safe when you spend time near me. We’ll just have to make sure you do that.”

“You’re kidding.”

“You object?”

“No. I just... thought I’d get a fist through my chest.”

“You’re important to me, Anders.”

He was not expecting that. In a hundred years, he would not have expected that.

“OK.”

When the stew was warm, Fenris dished a large serving, and handed it to Anders. He was voracious.

When they had both finished eating, Fenris spoke. His tone left no room for argument.

“You will bring your belongings here. There are many rooms, you can pick one, if you like. You will share my bed each night, to soothe that damned spirit.”

“You’re kind of bossy.”

“This is how it will be, Anders. Or, we will speak with Hawke, and he will decide how to proceed.”

He sighed. “Thank you.”

“And, we will leave right now, to destroy that explosive device. You will tell me how you made it, so I can be aware of signs, should you try, again. So help me, Anders. You had better not try, again.”

Anders began to weep, once more, guilt and fear overtaking him. He felt the elf pull him against him.

“You will be fine. We will keep the spirit at bay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris taking charge.


	5. Admissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders comes to terms with what he almost did.
> 
> Fenris is devoted.
> 
> A storm is coming to Kirkwall.

After assisting Fenris to dismantle and throw the explosive device into the harbor, Anders had fallen into a depression. He berated himself for having so easily transformed from a healer into a would-be mass murderer. The fact that he hadn’t actually done it gave him no solace. He knew that he would have. Had Fenris not intervened, countless innocent people would have died. 

He lay in bed for days. He spoke little, and refused to talk most of the time. He couldn’t stop the pervasive thought that he, and everyone else, would be better off if he were dead. He’d no longer be a danger, Justice would be free, and he’d be free of his miserable existence. He didn’t understand why Fenris was insistently trying to help him.

“Talk to me, Anders.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“I believe you’ve plenty to say.”

“Nothing worth hearing.”

“I disagree. You have much to say that is worth hearing. I would like to hear it.”

“You’re patronizing me.”

“You know me better than that.”

“Leave me alone, Fenris.”

“No. I won’t let you just lie in bed and stare at the wall.”

“Why not? I can’t hurt anyone from here.”

He felt the elf climb into the bed. Anders didn’t resist when Fenris pulled him into his arms. The elf massaged his fingers into the mage’s tangled hair. His spoke quietly.

“You’re a caring man who wants to change the world. You’re a fine healer. You’re an excellent teacher. You’re brilliant. You’re a talented mage. You’re a greater friend than I could have ever hoped to have.”

“You’re still patronizing me.”

“I am not. I mean every word. I know that damned spirit is one of your... particular peculiarities. Your passenger causes you grief. We can make that better. But, it doesn’t change the rest of you. You are remarkable, Anders. Tell me what you need.”

Anders sniffled. This elf.... this damned elf. The mage spoke.

“Would you kiss my forehead?”

Fenris turned his head, and pressed his lips against Anders’ forehead. Then, again.

“Let me help you, Mage. We do well in this arena.”

Anders nodded. “I’ll try.”

In the weeks to come, the elf listened, encouraged, embraced, and bolstered the mage. Anders did try, and he did begin to feel better. But, he had trouble letting go of his self-inflicted solitary confinement. After a few weeks, Fenris began to lose patience with the mage’s reclusiveness.

“I don’t want to go out.”

“Get dressed.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You plan to lie here and stare at the ceiling all evening? Again?”

“I’ll roll over and stare at the wall, later.”

“Mage. This is helping no one. Not me. Definitely not you. Get dressed, or I will put you over my shoulder and carry you to the Hanged Man in your smallclothes.”

“I can’t look at them. They carry on, laughing, with no idea of the monster in their midst. I feel like a fraud.”

Fenris pulled back the blankets and began to hoist the mage up to carry him.

“Fine fine fine! Maker’s ass. What’s so important about a stupid card game?”

“Nothing. What’s important is that you get out and join the world again. I’m only going to have so much patience for this hiding, Mage. Then, I’ll get unpleasant.”

“Then you’ll get unpleasant. So, this is you, happy-happy-joy-joy?”

Eventually, Anders began to bounce back. He went to the Hanged Man when Fenris insisted. He got out of bed and bathed. Fenris helped him set up a room of his own in the mansion. He didn’t need much, he didn’t have much. A desk at which to write and do research. A table to brew potions. There was a bed in the room, though he slept with Fenris. It was nice to stretch-out on it when the potions needed to simmer.

Anders lay awake half of each night, and stared at the stars through the skylight, holding the elf in his silent sleep. He sometimes lay awake and stared at the elf. He couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why Fenris tried so hard to help him. With time,  
Anders’ self-recrimination ceased. Justice was quiescent, again. 

\----------------------------------

Anders started to spend several days of each week in the clinic. Previously, he’d worked in Darktown every day that he wasn’t on a job with Hawke. Now, he was frequently at the mansion. He enjoyed having a safe, warm place to do his research and make potions. Living in Fenris’ home gave Anders a sense of security for which he hadn’t known he’d longed. He also found he enjoyed being around the elf more frequently. When they were both at home, they drifted in and out of each other’s rooms. They had long, rambling conversations. They also had arguments. They grew comfortable with their company. They considered one another in their day-to-day activities.

“I found some more books for you to work on.”

“Let me see. I can read most of this. What’s this word?”

“Knickerweasel.”

“That’s not a real word.”

“It is. This is the book in which I first read it.”

“Fasta vass. Is this even a real book? Don’t teach me with parody.”

“It’s not a parody. It’s funny.”

“Says you. I will regret learning to read before I even learn to do it properly.”

They began dreamwork again. Fenris’ nightmares were much less frequent. He still had memories play-out in his sleep.

Anders woke from one memory in tears.

“You were both wearing collars and leashes, with locks on them. You were both crying, Fenris. Piteous, heartbreaking tears.”

“Was she being sent away?”

“Yes. How did you know? She was being led away on the leash.”

“We had probably been discovered. Slaves aren’t generally allowed to have intimate relationships. If found out, they are usually separated. I assume she was sold. That’s why we were on locked leashes. To keep us from trying to run away and find each other.”

Anders looked at him in disbelief. “How can you talk about it so calmly? You were both heartbroken. It was a tragedy, Fenris.”

“I don’t remember it, Mage. I certainly don’t feel it.”

“I do. It broke my heart to see it.”

“That’s another one of those particular peculiarities. You’re extremely empathetic. That’s why you cry when you read Varric’s romance novels.”

“I don’t read romance novels. And, I definitely don’t cry when I do.”

Fenris snorted.

“I still say it’s tragic that you were separated. You were in love.”

Anders wandered yet another twisting path in the Fade. He found Fenris standing in an empty courtyard. As the dreamscape filled, Anders recognized it as the Gallows courtyard. This was new. He followed Fenris as the elf moved through the crowd. Tranquil, Templars, mages, shop keepers, all going about their business.

The elf approached a stand of wares. The mage beside it turned to face him. It was Anders, with a bright, fresh, Tranquil brand on his forehead. His face was blank, with no emotion, no life in his eyes. The real Anders jumped backward in horror. The dream Fenris drew his blade, and struck the Tranquil Anders down.

Both Anders and Fenris opened their eyes, gasping for air. Anders threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Maker,” he breathed. “Now you’re dreaming my nightmares.” He pressed a hand over his heart, trying to slow it. 

He felt Fenris scoot behind him, and put arms about him. The elf’s hand covered the one over Anders’ heart.

“It’s not only your nightmare, Mage,” his breath was warm on his neck. Soothing. “I could not abide to lose your friendship, that way.”

“I hope you would really put me out of my misery, if it happened,” he whispered.

“I would. I would not leave you to suffer. I would rather prevent it from happening, entirely.”

“You and me, both.”

\----------------------------------------

The city was tense. A storm was brewing, and even those blessedly unaware of the reason felt the turmoil.

Anders was acutely aware of it. He continued to hear of events in the Gallows. Meredith and her Templars were reaching peaks of cruelty, and more Tranquil were seen in Gallows, every day. Messages reached Anders of Circle mages gone missing, entirely. There were whispers of Meredith falling to madness. He received word of a mass break-out happening a few nights hence. Dozens of mages planned to escape the Circle, at any cost.

“Mage, what do you hope to do?” He watched as Anders gathered his pack and staff on the night in question.

“I’m getting as many out of Kirkwall as I can. I can’t stand by and let them suffer for another’s psychotic paranoia. Meredith is unchecked, Fenris. She is the highest power in Kirkwall, now. And, she’s howling at the bloody moon.”

He made for the door, and found his way blocked by the elf.

“Fenris....”

“I can’t let you do this. You’re putting yourself in danger.”

“I’ve been in danger my entire life. The only reason Meredith hasn’t had me rounded-up is due to Hawke’s influence. I don’t know how long that influence will hold. She’s slipping, Fenris. You have to see this. The Gallows, and this whole city, are on the edge of chaos. I have to do something.”

Fenris’ eyes held his. The elf looked ready to tackle the mage, to keep him from leaving. Finally, Fenris sighed.

“Then, I’m coming with you.”

It didn’t go well. Word had gotten out, and the Templars were ready for the mages’ exodus. About half-a-dozen were able to make it to the rendezvous, with as many Templars hot on their heels. 

Anders was unmeasurably grateful for Fenris’ assist, at that point. Between the two of them, and the few mages able to assist, the Templars were nullified. The elf and the mage were able to get them to the boat waiting in the harbor, and sent on their way.

Fenris was in a furor. As soon as they were through the mansion door, he unleashed. He came as close to yelling as the mage had ever heard, his voice tight with anger.

“You could have been killed! We could have both been killed. It’s dumb luck that we were able to meet the Templars as well as we did, and you know it.”

“You didn’t have to come, Fenris. That was your idea. I didn’t ask--”

“No, you didn’t ask, but how could I not? Do you think I would let you go into danger on your own? Do you have any idea what it would do to me, to lose you?” 

Anders was jarred. 

“Well... no. Your nightmares are pretty much gone--”

“Forget the damned nightmares. Do you never hear the words that leave my mouth, Mage? You are important to me. You are my friend. You mean....” he stopped. He dropped his head, exhaling hard.

Anders’ heart began to skip. 

“What? I mean what?”

Fenris didn’t look up. Anders couldn’t see his face through the white hair hanging down. Finally, the elf spoke.

“Everything. You mean everything.”

Anders’ entire being shivered. He felt those words in his soul, his heart, his body. He drew a shuddering breath, and dropped his gear carelessly. When he took the elf in his arms, and held him close, Fenris didn’t resist. His arms wrapped about the mage, in return. Anders ran a hand into the elf’s hair, and a lump formed in his throat when he replied.

“You mean everything to me, as well, Fenris.” He felt the elf sigh, and lean into him.

“Then, why must you put yourself in danger?” 

Anders shrugged. “I have to help. You know that. I have to try.”

He felt warmth against his neck. The soft wetness of careful kisses, pressed against his skin. He shivered, again. 

“Fenris....” 

The elf’s mouth made its way up to his jaw. Fenris pulled back then, and looked at the mage. Anders, feeling heat build in his body, saw answering heat in those beautiful green eyes. 

“Mage, let me tell you what I need.” 

Anders, swimming in disbelieving delight, nodded.

“I need to be held, and touched, and kissed. By you. If you are similarly inclined, take me to our bed, so we may do these things. If you are not, I need you to tell me so.”

Anders appreciated the way in which the elf had bravely let his needs be known, and still allowed the mage the opportunity for an exit, should he need one. There was no question in Anders’ mind. He took Fenris’ hand, and led him up the stairs.

Lying together, minus outer robes and armor, they melted against one another. Kissing Fenris was a deeply intense experience. Anders wasn’t surprised. Everything the elf did was intense. He didn’t know if Fenris’ kissing skills, like his swordplay, had carried through the memory loss, or if he was simply a natural. But, the mage was lost in the pleasure of the elf’s mouth. 

Plush lips gently played over his. Soft, warm, slow. Anders responded in kind. He let the elf set the pace, decide where this went, how far, and how fast. This kiss had gone on endlessly. He could continue with just this, for eternity. He was aroused... oh, yes, so aroused. But, he was damned if he would do anything to upset Fenris, or cause him to feel pressured into more than he was comfortable doing. 

Anders smoothed his hands along the elf’s tunic, mapping the muscles beneath. Fenris’ body was firm, strong, warm. His fingers stole into the silky hair. His mouth alternated between consuming and being consumed. 

Fenris stroked his hands along the mage’s body, as well. Both were somewhat familiar with each other’s form, having slept tightly nestled for many months. This was different. This was intimate. This was about pleasure. 

When Fenris’ hand slowly and firmly slid down Anders’ back, and unhesitatingly curved about his arse, a moan broke from both their throats. Anders’ arousal increased, and his body thrummed. When Fenris pushed the mage onto his back, and leaned over him, continuing their kiss, Anders moaned, again. The elf spoke against his lips.

“You arouse me, Mage,” he whispered. Anders tried to chuckle, but it came out a groan.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” his husky voice replied. 

Fenris’ tongue lightly stroked along Anders’ lower lip, and the mage parted his lips, drawing the elf in. As their tongues met and twined, and explored, Fenris threaded his fingers into Anders’ hair. He backed away, slightly. When he spoke, his voice was deep, throaty.

“This is the pleasure you spoke of sharing between two people.”

“Yes... it’s some of it. Maker, Fenris,” he moaned as the elf sucked at his neck.

“Touch me, Anders,” the elf whispered against his skin.

“I am touching you.” He ran his hands down the elf’s hips and thighs.

“Touch me where I’m aroused,” Fenris clarified. He took one of Anders’ hands, and pulled it to his groin. As his hand met the hard bulge in Fenris’ leggings, the elf shuddered and groaned aloud. Surprised, but happily so, by this sudden change in events, Anders cupped Fenris’ arousal. Then, it occurred to him. The elf was likely just as surprised by what he was feeling. He had no memory of sexual pleasure. 

Anders took his time. He stroked gently over the heat under his hand. Fenris gave up kissing, his face buried in the mage’s neck. The elf moaned continuously, body shivering. Anders kept stroking, rubbing the heel of his hand against the hard bulge.

“Do you like this?” he whispered. “Tell me what you want, Fenris. Anything you want....”

Fenris’ hips began to thrust lightly. “... Anders.... you said, once... you would bring us... both to climax....” Anders felt his own arousal surge.

“You want that?”

“Yes... both of us... Anders....”

“Lie against me,” he whispered, pulling his hand away.” Fenris dropped himself on top of the mage. Anders shifted their hips, and suddenly the bulge of both their erections met. Both men groaned, bodies lurching. 

Instinct, or body memory, led Fenris in this dance. He moved his pelvis, sliding himself against the mage. Anders shuddered violently. It had been so, so long. He was so, so aroused. He wanted Fenris so, so much. He ground his hips up and against the elf’s thrusts, the heat in his loins surging through him.

They moved together, erections sliding and rubbing through their clothing. The friction was perfect, and not enough. Anders’ hands gripped the elf’s hips, pulling him more tightly against him. Fenris cried out with pleasure.

“Mage... Anders.... what’s happening... fasta vass.... don’t stop... more....”

Anders rallied his control, his body in a torment of utter, complete arousal. Fenris rolled them over, pulling Anders atop of him. The mage slipped between the elf’s thighs, and found a new rhythm.

“Hold me,” Fenris demanded. Anders wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“I’ve got you,” he groaned. “I’ve got you, Fenris... oh, it’s so good... tell me you want this... tell me you like what you feel....” 

Fenris bucked against him. “Yes... Yes... Yes... so good....” he whimpered.

Anders looked into Fenris’ eyes. The elf, panting with face flushed, was staring at him intently, even as his head twitched with the sensations pouring through him. As Anders felt the body below him begin to come undone, he saw the elf’s climax play-out in the beautiful green orbs. Disbelief. Wonder. Desire. Finally, ecstasy overrode everything else. The elf’s body shuddered and pulsed, Fenris’ voice calling out wordlessly in passion.

Entranced by the elf’s experience, Anders was caught unaware by his own climax. He slammed into agonizing pleasure, body writhing against the elf beneath him. 

“Maker... Fenris! Fenris... oh.... Maker....” he whimpered, and collapsed against the elf holding him. 

\---------------------------------

“You sure you’re alright?” Anders’ soft voice asked. He pressed gentle kisses into the snowy hair, fingers massaging into the silky stuff. Fenris was wrapped about the mage, head on his shoulder. 

“Yes.” He murmured. The elf’s hand was under Anders’ tunic, fingers lightly stroking the sprinkling of hair across the mage’s chest.

“You’re very quiet.”

“I don’t have words.” He lifted his head, and kissed the mage’s lips. “You said it could be pleasurable for both, but....”

Anders smiled. “You had no memory for comparison. You didn’t feel pressured, or--”

“Stop worrying. I had never imagined such pleasure, Mage. You were... you did... it was perfect.” He lay his head back in the hollow of Anders’ shoulder. 

“I’m so glad,” the mage said. He was floating in bliss. More than simple afterglow, Anders was overwhelmed with the joy of Fenris’ admissions. The elf cared for him. Deeply. And, had found a way to say it. He’d asked for what he needed. Anders cared for Fenris, in return. He didn’t know when or how it had come to be. But, the moment he knew it was there, it was undeniable.

Fenris’ hand stroking his chest, was unbelievably sensual. Such a simple touch, not even very stimulating. It was knowing that the elf touched him because he wanted to; that he enjoyed the feel of the mage, that he’d breeched the barrier of cloth to make the contact... it was heady.

“You did not wish for more? For... to... penetrate?” Fenris asked, awkwardly.

“No. I was delighted with whatever you wanted. There are lots of pleasures to be had.”

“You’re used to more exotic, more comprehensive, joinings.”

Anders laughed lightly, squeezing the elf. “I’ve had them, yes. A long, long time ago. I want you, Fenris, however you’re comfortable. If we never go further under our clothing than we are, right now, I will be content. It won’t be good for me, unless it’s also good for you.”

They drifted to sleep, bodies, hearts and minds adrift in sweet lassitude.

\------------------------------------------

They were awakened before noon by pounding on the bedroom door.

“Fenris, Anders! We need to talk.” It was Hawke. 

The story he told was unsettling. Knight Captain Cullen had approached Hawke, this morning. Cullen had been deeply concerned with the state of Meredith’s mind, for some time. In the past few months, her paranoia had gone off the scale. She saw blood mages and abominations around every corner. Her accusations went beyond the mages. She had interrogated several Templars, as well. Cullen had done his best to run interference between her increasingly erratic behavior, and the Circle’s best interests. He’d covered for her behaviors; she’d been seen talking to herself, shouting, gesticulating. Many Templars were nervous around her. Some seemed goaded by her delusions in their own mania, augmenting their own cruel natures. The mages were terrified.

Anders was skeptical. “The Knight Captain doesn’t even view mages as people. He said it, bold as brass. Why would he come to you about this, if not to flush-out potential sympathizers of the mages?”

“Apparently, Meredith’s filed a report. Forty blood mages escaped from the Gallows last night.”

Fenris looked at Anders in disbelief.

“Hawke, that’s not true,” Fenris said. “A few dozen tried to escape. Some were killed. Only a half dozen made it out. And, not one of them used blood magic.”

“You were there?”

“I was. I have trouble believing Cullen is going against the Knight Commander, as well.”

“Well, by his telling, last night was the last straw. Meredith is calling down the Rite of Annulment on the Circle. She’s awaiting orders.”

Anders stood in alarm. “She can’t be allowed to do that! There weren’t even any blood mages! They’re just desperate. They want to get out before... well, before this. Hawke, we have to do something!”

The rogue nodded. “Believe his story, or not, that’s why Cullen came to me. He knows things are grim in the Circle, but they are not at such a level as to kill the entire population of mages. He’s seen an actual overrun of a Circle, and this is not that. He wants our help.”

“In what capacity?” Fenris asked.

“As Knight Captain, he has the responsibility to relieve Meredith of duty if he finds her unfit. He fears she will react violently. She still has enough support from Templars under her command to make a slaughter of it. Cullen has gone to Elthina, to ask her to appeal to Meredith; she’s always respected the Grand Cleric. He’s also gone to Orsino, to encourage him to keep mages calm until everything is settled. 

“But, should that not be enough, he wants the city guard, and us, to be on hand for what may follow.”

“Of course, I’ll help,” Anders said. “This can’t happen.” 

“No. You can’t go, Anders. The Templars will pick you up in a heartbeat.”

“I have to go.”

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

“Fenris, I’m going.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

Fenris placed a beseeching hand on the mage’s chest. “Please, don’t.”

Anders covered the elf’s hand with his own. “I have to.”

Fenris sighed heavily. “I can’t believe we’re doing this a second time in twelve hours. Fine. I’m going with you. Again. And, I mean, right with you. You’re not leaving my side, Mage.”

Hawke watched the interaction in confusion. “Look, however you get there, just meet me in front of the Chantry. Cullen will arrange for Meredith to talk with Elthina, there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head-canon:
> 
> Since Fenris is learning about his memories through Anders, he didn't have surprising, upsetting memories come blasting through after his first intimacy.
> 
> Since there was no explosion to propel Meredith into her wackadoo craziness, it happened a little slower, and got a little further along before the confrontation than in the game.
> 
> Because Cullen sees her heightened level of wackadoo craziness, he takes a stand a little sooner than in the game.
> 
> to be continued....


	6. If There is a Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith incites a long-brewing battle.
> 
> Fenris and Anders find similar inclinations.
> 
> (This is the final chapter)

It was after dark before the mansion door opened, and the two men crossed through. Both were filthy with the aftermath of battle. The mage supported the warrior, who was weak with exhaustion.

Anders helped the elf up the stairs, and directly to the bathing room. He set the bathtub filling with water, then turned to Fenris. As he began unbuckling the elf’s armor, Fenris helped him pull it off. Then, they both peeled the robes from the mage. 

\-----------

The day had been one of trial and terror. For all of Cullen’s planning and hopes, it had devolved into a nightmare. A nightmare from which none of them could wake. 

Aveline and her guardsmen waited at the Chantry with Hawke and his group. Meredith arrived at the Chantry with a complement of a half-dozen Templars. Elthina tried to reason with Meredith, but her words fell on twisted ears. Meredith was raving mad. The Knight Commander accused Elthina of complicity with blood mages. She even went so far as to threaten the Grand Cleric. The Templars who’d arrived with Meredith gave verbal support of the Knight Commander’s words, and moved forward threateningly. Sebastian had stepped-in, at that point, pulling Elthina away as he shielded her behind him. 

Orsino, against Cullen’s cautioning, had shown up with a couple dozen mages. He tried to sway Elthina to his cause, but talking at that point was useless. Meredith and her Templar escort rounded on Orsino. Cullen and his own complement of Templars arrived at a run. Who made the first attack was still in contention. Regardless, the battle had begun.

\-------------

By the time the elf and mage were naked and shivering, the tub had filled. Fenris lowered himself to the bathing stool, legs shaky. Anders heated the water with a spell, and dunked a bucket into it. Holding it over the elf’s head, he slowly poured the water over him. Fenris tilted his head back, and scrubbed at his face and hair with his hands. The water ran black from his body. 

After Anders had repeated the procedure several times, Fenris did the same for the mage. Then, still silent, they took turns lathering each other with soap, head to toe. They filled the bucket, again, and rinsed each other clean. 

\------------

Hawke’s group, the Guardsmen, and Cullen’s troops fought to simply bring a cease-fire. Things truly got out of hand when the first mage used blood magic. Whether a blood mage, already, or one simply scared into it by circumstances, was unknown. Demons were summoned by the magic. Abominations were born. Chaos erupted. 

The battle swarmed through the city. Rage demons set flames to people and property, alike. Citizens were cut down by mage, Templar and abomination alike. Choosing targets became a matter of who was doing the worst damage to innocents. Templar fought Templar, mage fought mage. 

As the fight flowed through Lowtown, and eventually to the docks, Orsino gathered what he could of the mages, and fled across the harbor to the relative safety of the Gallows. Meredith took pursuit, dragging the battle with her.

\-------------

As Anders dried the elf, he felt him sway. He pulled Fenris’ arms about his neck, to hold onto for support. The mage continued drying the elf, then himself. He dropped the towel, and put his arms about Fenris, and leaned their foreheads together.

“Mage....” Fenris began with a hoarse voice.

Anders silenced him with a kiss. 

\-------------

In the Gallows, Orsino and the mages took refuge in the Circle. Meredith and her Templars waited outside for the following participants. As Cullen and Hawke tried to reason with her and her escort, mages poured, screaming, from inside the Circle. In their wake came a hideous creature. As near as they were able to understand from the mages, Orsino had resorted to blood magic in desperation. He had been reformed into this... thing.

Meredith had gloated, nearly pleased to see the horror before them. She revealed her blade, made from the red lyrium idol. She was able to call power from it. For a brief time, all fought against the creature Orsino had become. When it was finally killed, Meredith turned on them all.

She brought the statues in the Gallows’ courtyard to life with the power of the red lyrium. She and her group of Templars, aided by the statues, leveled a terrifying battle against the rest. In the chaos, Fenris was separated from Anders. By the time he saw him, again, the mage was cornered by three of Meredith’s Templars, and beginning to flag. He took a hard blow from a mace, and suddenly Justice appeared. 

Blue light shone from him as his skin cracked, and eyes glowed. His strength returned, and he managed to take down the mace-bearing Templar. Fenris sprinted toward him across the courtyard. He was caught by a madly spinning statue, and thrown hard against the wall. He staggered to his feet, head throbbing. He found his last stamina and healing potion, and was able to finally make it to Anders’ side. 

The appearance of Justice had drawn the attention of the last of Meredith’s Templars. Together, Anders and Fenris managed to hold off the Templars, taking down several. Meanwhile, Meredith had fallen, and turned to a red lyrium statue in the center of the courtyard. Hawke’s group joined the elf and mage, and dispatched the last of the threatening Templars. The battle was over. 

\-----------

Anders led Fenris to their bed, and they crawled in. The elf was shaking, by now. Anders had healed him, but Fenris had drained himself, completely; to the point that potions had nothing left to build upon in his body. He simply needed rest.

“Anders....” he began, again. The mage put fingers over his lips.

“Shhh. Just sleep.” 

Fenris’ eyes closed, and he slipped into exhausted slumber. Anders pressed several kisses to the elf’s face, neck and lips. Then, he followed him into sleep.

\-----------

When the battle had ended, Fenris had stood unsteadily, looking at the glowing Anders. Then, Justice faded away. The mage sagged without the spirit’s bolstering energy. Fenris and Anders fell into each other’s arms, keeping themselves upright. Anders used what little mana he had left and healed them both. 

They’d made their way far from the red lyrium statue of Meredith, and sat on the chest of a fallen statue. They were both filthy with soot, blood and the ichor of demons. Fenris pulled Anders tightly into his arms, and buried his face in the mage’s grimy neck. 

“I’m alright,” the mage reassured him.

“I know,” the elf spoke into Anders’ hair. His voice was rough with the grit of battle, the force of his battle cry. “I know.”

“Justice is gone. He came out because I was in danger.”

“I know.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just have never been so scared, as when you were trapped by those Templars.”

“Oh. Well, I was pretty unnerved, myself.” 

“Anders, please stop putting yourself into danger, like this.”

“It’s what we do, Fenris.”

The elf sighed. “I know. At least, promise me you won’t die. I can’t bear the thought of living without you.”

Anders was deeply moved by the words. He buried his hand in elf’s dirty hair. 

“Nor I, you,” he replied.

\--------------

Anders awoke the following morning. They had slept through the night, yet he was still exhausted. His body was stiff and sore, but his mana restored. He cast a healing spell, and the last of yesterday’s injuries disappeared in a flash of blue light.

He looked at the elf beside him. Still soundly sleeping, he was curled toward the mage. Anders smiled at his wildly awry hair, a mess from sleeping with it wet. He stroked his fingers into the tangle of silk.

Anders hadn’t let Fenris speak, once they’d returned home. He didn’t want to hear sweet words that might be revoked in the morning, when rest and time had given the elf the chance to think clearly. 

Justice had still come through, even after continued proximity to the elf’s markings. During the battle, Fenris had seen many mages fall to using blood magic, or become prey to demons. Would living with a possessed mage still hold its allure, when he woke and remembered all that had happened?

Returning from the battle, Anders had only wanted to care for Fenris, for a little while. To usher him into sleep. To stroke his hair, and remember the words that had been spoken.

Anders drifted to back into sleep, gazing on the elf’s beauty, feeling the silky hair under his fingers.

He was wakened some time later. Warmth was pressed against his front. A hand stroked down his back, sending shiver-inducing tingles across his skin. Small, sucking kisses moved along his throat and chest. He groaned in appreciation of the sensations drawing him from sleep.

“Wake up, Mage,” a soft voice said.

“No....”

He heard Fenris’ sinfully delightful chuckle. “Too late. You gave yourself away.”

He opened his eyes to the beauty of the elf’s moss green ones.

“Do you want healing?” he asked, sleepily.

“If you’re able. I’m sore in places.”

He wrapped arms about the elf, and blue light flared as he cast. 

“Thank you,” Fenris murmured, and captured the mage’s mouth in a grateful kiss.

Anders stroked hands into the white hair, and decided to just cut to the chase.

“Fenris, are you still alright with... me... after yesterday?” The elf looked confused.

“I don’t follow.”

“You saw some of the worst that mages can be. Orsino... I don’t even know what that was. And, then, Justice. We thought he was pretty much out of reach. Maybe, you’re thinking, living with a mage....”

“Ah. I see. If I had a problem with you, would I have my naked body pressed against yours?” 

“Well, I know I’m irresistible. But, given it’s you... no, I suppose not.”

Fenris ran his fingers through the mage’s hair, gently sorting tangles. “We saw a lot of bad mages, yesterday. We also saw a lot of good. There were some very bad non-mages, too. And, some very good.

“Justice saved your life, Anders, and went back under when the danger was gone. Maybe it won’t always go that way, but so far, so good.”

Anders sighed in relief. 

Fenris gave him a final, sweet kiss. “Come on. We should find Hawke, and see what’s happening in the city.”

“Fenris?”

“Mage?”

Anders hesitated. “May I... look at you?”

Fenris looked puzzled. Then, he smirked. 

When the elf threw off the blankets, Anders found himself ogling the nude body next to him. He couldn’t help himself. The man was gorgeous.

Fenris saw his gaze, and smirked. 

“See something you like, Mage?”

“Maker, yes.” He got up on his elbow to better see, since the elf didn’t seem to mind his attention. The elf was well-formed, strong, long-limbed. The lyrium lines traced his dusky skin in swirls and loops. His dark skin was smooth, unblemished, hairless.

Fenris rolled onto his back, and stretched his arms overhead, yawning. He held the position, and turned his head to look at the mage, still smirking. Anders couldn’t tear his eyes away. He finally let his gaze move lower, and took in the perfect form of the elf’s sex. He sighed, and blinked contentedly. 

“Elf... you are simply beautiful,” he said. “May I touch you?”

Fenris laughed. Actually laughed aloud, and it was enchanting. “I may have reservations about certain things. But, Mage, you are not among those. Your gaze, and your touch, are welcome.”

Anders grinned, and simply slid one hand down the elf’s torso. From sternum to navel, he felt the smooth, warm skin under his palm. He rested his hand on the elf’s belly, thumb rubbing circles on his skin. He sorely wanted to slide his hand just a little lower. He sighed.

“If I touch you any more than this, we won’t be getting out of bed,” he said.

Fenris rolled to face him, again. The elf did the same, raking the mage with his gaze. He reached a hand, and stroked the mage from chest to abdomen. 

“You’re so warm.” he said. “I like the soft hair on your body.” His fingers stroked the fine trail of hair leading down from his navel. Anders caught those fingers, and raised them for a brief kiss.

“I like that you like it. You can explore me all you like. Later. I mean it... I’m this close to keeping you in bed the rest of the day.”

\----------

Kirkwall looked like a war-zone. Which it was, Anders supposed. They found Hawke in front of the Chantry, talking with the Grand Cleric. The Chantry had been turned into a hospital, of sorts. Hawke grabbed the mage and manhandled him inside. From that moment, Anders’ day was spent healing the people of Kirkwall who had been wounded in the battle. He sent Fenris to his clinic to bring back any potions he could find. After that, the elf disappeared with Hawke.

Anders left for home well after dark. He was drained, and there was no lyrium to be found. The Circle had had only enough to keep the Templars from withdrawal. Varric was working his connections with the Carta to get more brought in. All of Anders’ potions were used in treating the injured. 

When he came through the door of the mansion, Fenris came down the stairs to meet him. Anders pulled him into an embrace, and just held him.

“Bad?”

“Horrible.”

“Tired?”

“Exhausted.”

“Hungry?”

“Famished.”

“I’ve got food.”

“You’re a good man.”

The simple stew and bread was the most delicious meal the mage had ever eaten. He drank his cider, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I wasn’t prepared for the number of injured civilians.”

“The city guard did their best to protect the populace, but they’re not really trained in dealing with abominations and demons.”

“What did you do, today?”

“After Hawke stuck you in the Chantry, we went to the Gallows. It was a mess. Cullen’s getting things under control. He’s a decent commander. The remaining mages are staying inside the Gallows, of their own volition. The Templars staying-on seem to be good men.”

“Staying-on? Where are the rest?”

“Gone rogue, I guess. A lot of mages ran. A lot of Templars followed. Emotions between the two are running high. Hawke is helping with that. He’s an unbiased voice of reason.”

“Good. I had a few people who wouldn’t let me treat them, today. Too scared to have a mage touch them. A shame.”

“That’s going to be a common reaction. A lot of people saw scary mage-things, yesterday.”

“Did no one see the helpful, life-saving mage-things that also happened yesterday?”

“People remember those things that are most emotionally evoking. I wasn’t being kept awake by dreams of cleaning my armor, after all.”

“I suppose.” Anders was upset. Would mages be eternally cast in the role of villain? With all the healing he had done in his lifetime, would he still be reviled for the acts of the few who lost their way? Although, thinking of what he’d almost done... perhaps he deserved to be reviled.

“You’re a good man, Anders. Don’t sink into anger or self-flagellation.”

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

“I know you.”

“I wish there was something I could do. Some way to help the mages who ran. They’re afraid, Fenris. Most have lived in the Circle their entire lives. They have no idea what the world is like.”

“Cullen is allowing any mage who wants to return, to do so. There are great changes happening in the Gallows, Anders. It will not be the same. Come with me, tomorrow. Talk to him.”

“You think he won’t imprison me on sight?”

“I do not. He knows the part you played, yesterday.”

“I’ll think about it.” He yawned mightily. “Damn, I’m tired.”

As they undressed for bed, each watched the other. They shared a small grin, and ducked their heads. Neither reached for their sleep clothes.

Once under the covers, Anders opened his arms, as usual. Fenris slid into them, and pressed against the mage. Both moaned, quietly.

“Fenris... you feel unbelievably good.” Anders’ body thrilled to the feel of the elf’s lithe form against him. Strong, firm, smooth, warm... he ran his hands along the heated skin, and sighed.

The elf plastered himself along Anders’ body. Even his feet ran up and down the mage’s legs. His fingers were threading through the light sprinkling of hair on Anders’ chest.

“Mage... I cannot remember a body that I wanted to touch. I am enamored of yours.”

“Enamored. I’m honored, Fenris.”

“I mean it, Mage.”

“As do I. After your experiences, for you to find me appealing... it’s high praise.”

In spite of the feel of the elf against him, Anders was exhausted. He slipped into sleep before he knew his eyes had closed.

His bladder woke him sometime in the night. As he slipped back under the covers, and into the elf’s arms, he noticed Fenris’ eyes moving with a dream. He followed him into the Fade.

He found the elf in a memory. He was in a brightly lit room, lying naked on a table. His body was covered in ink drawings, delineating where the lyrium markings would be. Danarius was binding Fenris tightly. The elf looked nervous. 

Danarius lifted a small, sharp blade. He used it to cut along one of the lines drawn on his skin. Fenris flinched, but did not appear to cry out. Danarius lifted a philter filled with fluid, and slowly dripped it into the incision.

Fenris‘ head arched back, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. The memory became fuzzy, then flashed to white. The scene ended.

Shuddering from the callous disregard shown for Fenris’ pain during the procedure, Anders knew it was the final hidden memory. Presumably, everything from that point on, Fenris remembered. The mage wondered if the memories would begin again, and replay in the elf’s sleep, as they already had. A never-ending loop of his forgotten life. He knew there were many he hadn’t witnessed. Perhaps they would provide Fenris with more clues to his life. 

The Fade shifted around him. Fenris was beginning another dream. He walked along the twisting path. He came to the elf, kneeling beside a bed.

Ah, no. Not this. After all this time.... Fenris stood. He reached his arms out, and Anders saw himself appear. The two dream-figures embraced. They kissed. They touched. They fell to the bed, and began pleasuring each other.

Anders was fascinated. And, aroused. He watched for a moment, then realized... he could very likely do more than watch, were he to return to his own bed. He grinned to himself.

Fenris was pressed against him, still lost in the dream. For all that he was asleep, the elf’s body was responding to the dream’s activities. So was the mage’s. Anders placed gentle kisses to the elf’s face and throat. He stroked his skin and hair. Slowly, Fenris roused from sleep.

“Anders?”

“You’re expecting someone else?”

“You have no idea the dream you just interrupted.”

“As it happens, I do.” He covered the elf’s mouth with his own, and heard the elf moan eagerly into the kiss.

“Mmm... this is better than the dream,” Fenris groaned.

“Is it? That dream looked pretty good.” He ran his hands up and down the elf’s back.

“You thought so?”

“Uhhh... yes. Any reason I wouldn’t?” His mouth found the skin of Fenris’ neck, and learned it.

“I wasn’t doing much. For you. You were doing all of the... doing.” Fenris groaned, again.

“It was incredible, I agree.” He began kissing his way down the elf’s neck and collar bones.

“That would please you?” Fenris’ voice was taking on a husky quality as the mage continued his exploration.

“Immensely. If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, just tell me to stop. This is for both of us.”

“You don’t want me to...?”

“Get used to being pleased, sweet elf. Later, if you wish to explore a new kind of pleasing another, we’ll go there. Let things happen in their own time.” He finished with a sucking nip to the elf’s throat. Fenris gasped, and nodded.

Anders was in heaven. He had this entire, beautiful man to explore and pleasure. To taste and touch. He began.

He began with touch. Fenris had the smoothest, sleekest body Anders had ever explored, in his life. He had thought that the lyrium lines might be scar-like; raised or sunken. They seemed to be imbedded, with a thin layer of skin over them, creating an unbroken surface. Anders stroked his hands slowly down the elf’s torso, marveling at the silken feel of him. His fingers slowed, and circled the dark nipples. Fenris’ breath trembled lightly. Good to know, the mage thought.

Anders raised Fenris’ arms over his head, and stroked down them, past his hairless underarms, along his ribs, and down to his flanks. He was lean, lanky. His hip bones jutted slightly, and he tickled over them, watching the elf squirm. Also, good to know.

Letting his hands continue down Fenris’ legs, he felt the tight muscles, the quivering of his inner thighs as he stroked the tender flesh there. Down past his knees, down smooth, muscled calves. His feet, bare at all times, were not calloused as he’d assumed. The soles of the elf’s feet were thick, but pliant. He stroked over them, over each toe. 

He kissed each foot. His knees. A lingering kiss to the dip in each hip bone, tongue tickling the sensitive nerves. Another kiss to the elf’s navel, with his tongue delving into the small dip. A kiss to his sternum. A long, lingering, sucking kiss to each nipple; that brought the elf arching up with a gasp. Kisses to each shoulder. Licking kisses to each inner elbow. A kiss to each palm, followed by nips to each fingertip.

He glanced at the elf. His breath came in deep pulls, through parted lips. The brilliant eyes were lidded as he took in each sensation. The mage felt his heart skip. Fenris was exquisite.

Anders would have liked to roll Fenris over, and administer the same treatment down the other side of the elf’s body. Imagining how Fenris might feel, being asked to take that position... he decided otherwise. For now.

He lay himself beside the elf. Those spellbinding eyes opened, and turned to him. Misty, trusting, aroused... Anders knew he was the luckiest man in Thedas. This perfect, beautiful, wonderful man was giving himself to him. He leaned over, and took those lips with his own. 

Maker. Kissing Fenris. So good. So captivating. 

As his lips found heaven, his hand began a slow, careful glide back down the elf’s body. His fingers trailed over the soft skin surrounding Fenris’ shaft. A shiver broke over the elf’s body, a small whimper was muffled by their kiss. Anders’ fingers lightly stroked over the elf’s sack. Fenris gave a convulsive shudder, his pelvis making a small thrust. 

When the mage drew his fingertips from the root of the elf’s shaft to the weeping head, Fenris broke the kiss, crying out. Anders smiled. Every touch was so new, so intense, for the elf. He wrapped his hand about the hard flesh, and stroked.

Fenris’ whole body jerked in response, groans choked with pleasure. Anders pumped his hand, feeling the flesh surge, watching as droplets leaked from the tip. He couldn’t stand it. He slid back down the sheets. Kneeling between the elf’s thighs, he engulfed the elf’s shaft with his mouth. 

A guttural shout accompanied the sudden thrust of Fenris’ hips. Anders compensated, and gently pressed the elf’s body against the bed. He moaned around his mouthful. Fenris was a feast worthy of savoring. He glanced up and met the elf’s gaze. Fenris’ face was a mix of disbelief and delight. Anders held his gaze, and continued his ministrations. 

Fenris couldn’t maintain eye contact for long. As the pleasure overtook him, the elf’s lids slipped closed. His face was suffused with ecstasy. Harsh groans left his throat with every breath. It was taking more effort for Anders to hold the elf’s hips still. Fenris was close.

Anders was in a state of bliss, of his own. Hearing, tasting and watching Fenris in his extremis was bringing the mage close to his own peak. He’d never been so aroused while performing this act. 

Fenris’ entire body began writhing. His groans turned to shouts. With a sudden convulsion, the elf erupted. Anders swallowed, moaning ecstatically. Maker, this elf was like candy. 

As Fenris’ body began to come down from its high, Anders was reaching his. Licking his lips, he sat up and took himself in hand. The taste of the elf on his tongue, he furiously fisted himself. He took in the sight of the sated man, and the heat in him boiled. He tilted his head back, whimpering, pumping himself. 

Then, another hand joined his on his member. He lifted his head to find Fenris was sitting up, bliss still dominant on his face. The elf’s fingers entwined with Anders’, stroking together. Fenris’ other hand cupped the mage’s cheek, and pulled him into a blistering kiss. Fenris’ participation was all it took, and Anders’ shout was muffled by the elf’s claiming mouth, as the mage shuddered, spending over their joined hands.

Fenris pulled Anders to lie with him. The mage gasped for breath, sweating, body twitching with aftershocks. When he opened his eyes, Fenris was sucking his own fingers clean of spend. Then, he picked up Anders’ hand and did the same to him. 

“Oh, Maker, Fenris. Do you have any idea how erotic that is?”

Fenris smiled around the finger in his mouth. When he was done, he claimed Anders’ lips in another possessive kiss. “It is from this side, as well,” he said. The elf wrapped himself in the mage’s arms, sighing with satisfaction. 

They lay in afterglow, hands smoothing along skin. 

“Mage.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Things are going to change. What happened in Kirkwall will not be the end.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I know you will wish to help the mages. It will be dangerous.”

“It was already dangerous, Fenris.”

“People are more frightened of mages. Many Templars are out of Chantry control.”

“True. Your point? Or, is this your version of pillow talk?”

“We should stay together, in the time to come.”

Anders smiled. This was pillow talk, after all. Just... Fenris-style.

“You think so? Just for safety, you mean.” 

“Yes. No. I do want to keep you safe. I also want you with me. There are many reasons. We can help Hawke bring order to the city. We can search for mages willing to receive assistance. We can continue to explore the hidden memories. We can share pleasures. We can....”

“Share our lives?” 

“If you are similarly inclined. We know each other’s particular peculiarities. We do well, together, Mage.” Fenris paused, and his voice lowered. 

“If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

Anders swallowed a lump that suddenly filled his throat. Fenris had asked for what he needed. What he needed was the mage. Anders’ voice was thick when he replied.

“I am similarly inclined, Fenris. There’s no one with whom I would rather meet the future.”

The elf nodded. Anders heard a small sniffle; and felt Fenris rub his face against the mage’s neck. 

Anders smiled. In his arms, he realized he held the rarest dream of all. 

The dream come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following this little tale!


End file.
